F 

596 

.1 
T9 


BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

O 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


SPAWN  O 
)ESERX 

/OTUTTL 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

BY 

W'  C.  TUTTLE 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

GARDEN  CITY  PUBLISHING  CO.,  INC, 
1924 


COPYRIGHT,    1922,    BY 

>OUBLEDAY,   PAGE    &   COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES 

AT 
THE  COtJNTBY  LIFE  PEESS,  GAKDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 


THE  Mohave  Indians  have  a  legend  of 
the  Calico  Mountains  and  their  origin. 
According  to  their  beliefs,  the  Great  Spirit 
finished  the  big  task  of  making  the  world  at 
this  spot 

The  desert  was  the  final  work  of  the  Great 
Spirit,  and  he  was  much  pleased;  but  in  his 
arms  he  held  a  big  jumble  of  rocks,  sand  and 
pigments,  which  were  left  from  'the  great 
work.  The  world  was  all  made  and  very  good 
to  look  upon,  so  he  had  no  place  for  this  extra 
material. 

To  get  rid  of  it  he  simply  dropped  it  at  his 
feet  in  a  mass,  and  the  many-hued  pigments 

i 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

spilled  over  it  until  the  whole  was  as  a  bright- 
hued  piece  of  cloth. 

Thus,  according  to  the  Indians,  was  formed 
these  mountains,  which  are  but  a  jumble  of 
barren  rocks,  rising  sheer  from  the  level  des- 
ert; scourged  through  the  centuries  by  the 
desert  sun,  wind  and  sand — an  unfading  proof 
that,  unlike  man,  the  Great  Spirit  painted 
deeper  than  the  surface. 

But  with  all  their  gaudy  colors  in  the  sun, 
these  mountains,  at  night,  are  black  silhou- 
ettes, which  appear  to  be  without  breadth  or 
thickness;  or  broken  into  misty,  hazy,  unreal 
piles  in  the  moonlight. 

On  all  sides  the  desert  stretches  away  to  the 
haze  of  nothingness — a  land  of  the  mirage; 
scenes  which  the  jealous  desert  steals  from 
arid  lands  and  holds  up  to  the  eyes  of  desert 
men  to  lure  them  on.  Cities,  rivers,  lakes, 
with  cool,  nodding  palms,  rippling  brooks, 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

vvhich  seem  only  a  few  feet  away,  then  fade 
out  to  show  a  waste  of  dust-gray  mesquite, 
which  rattles  in  the  hot  winds,  Joshua-trees, 
with  their  agonized  arms — and  sand.  Always 
the  sand. 

On  a  rocky  plateau  of  this  painted  range 
stood  a  town — one  street  of  adobe  shacks, 
paved  with  the  solid  rock  of  the  mountain. 
Even  the  houses  were  tinted  with  fantastic 
colors,  where  the  clay  had  been  mixed  with 
the  muck  of  the  silver  mines. 

At  the  upper  end  of  the  street  the  cliffs  arose 
sheer  for  several  hundred  feet,  like  gaudy 
drapes  of  calico.  At  the  lower  end  was  a  suc- 
cession of  broken  ledges,  which  sloped  off  to 
the  desert,  where  the  winding  trails  came  in 
from  the  rest  of  the  world. 

To  the  left  of  the  town  was  a  deep,  rocky 
gorge,  so  grotesque  in  formation  that  it  did 
not  appear  to  be  a  work  of  nature.  There 

3 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

were  natural  stone  bridges,  caves,  barriers — 
unreal  in  color  and  design,  as  though  a  child- 
minded  giant  had  modeled  them  in  colored 
clay  and  left  them  to  harden  in  the  blistering 
sun. 

This  was  the  residence  section  of  Calico 
Town,  and  was  known  as  Sunshine  Alley. 
Just  below  where  the  Alley  opened  onto  the 
desert,  on  a  slight  rise  of  ground,  full  in  the 
glare  of  the  sun,  and  with  no  protection  from 
the  ever-sifting  sand, was  the  graveyard,  which 
was  known  as  Hell's  Depot.  Not  a  blade  of 
grass,  not  even  a  spray  of  sage  grew  here.  The 
ground  was  a  mass  of  small  stones,  seemingly 
laid  close  together  like  tiles,  but  showing  pat- 
terns in  colors  that  would  put  any  man-made 
mosaic  to  shame. 

One  foot  deep  was  the  limit  of  the  graves, 
as  the  rock  below  that  depth  was  glass-like 
flint,  but  what  the  graves  lacked  in  depth  was 

4 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

made  up  in  height.  The  mounds  of  rock  were 
piled  until  one  might  believe  that  the  corpse 
had  been  of  gigantic  proportions,  or  that  the 
sexton  wished  to  preclude  any  chance  of  the 
dead  coming  back  in  material  form. 

Such  was  Calico  in  the  early  'fifties,  when 
men  were  gold-  and  silver-mad.  A  town  of 
thirty-five  hundred  population — a  population 
which  lived  in  caves,  hollowed  places  in  Sun- 
shine Alley,  or  picked  a  corner  in  the  rock  and 
builded  a  rock  barrier  around  them.  This 
gave  a  roofless  dwelling,  but  rain  did  not  come 
to  Calico,  so  there  was  no  need  for  roofs. 
Water  was  worth  more  than  whiskey,  and 
morals  were  as  scarce  as  orchids. 

Just  now  a  funeral  was  in  progress,  or 
rather,  had  been  in  progress.  The  corpse  was 
there  in  the  rough  casket;  the  grave  was  dug 
and  the  pall-bearers  stood  aside,  reverently 
holding  their  hats  in  their  hands.  Clustered 

5 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

around  was  a  cosmopolitan  mining-camp  au- 
dience. Frock-coated,  tall-hatted  gamblers 
rubbed  elbows  with  muck-stained  miners. 
Calico-clad  wives  of  miners,  children,  dogs, 
and  (even  a  group  of  burros  poked  onto  the 
flat  to  add  their  faces  to  the  mournful  pro- 
ceedings. 

Up  the  desert  trail  came  two  men  and  a 
lightly-packed  burro;  all  of  them  gray  with 
the  dust  and  heat.  The  one  who  led  the  car- 
avan was  a  mighty,  weatherbeaten  man,  with 
a  long,  white  beard.  In  appearance  he  might 
have  been  a  saint.  Surely  he  could  not  be 
a  sinner,  with  the  eyes  of  a  dreamer,  the  nose 
of  a  prophet  and  the  beard  of  a  saint;  but  na- 
ture does  queer  things  to  disappoint  students 
of  physiognomy. 

The  other  man  was  also  tall.  His  face 
showed  him  to  be  about  thirty  years  of  age — 
a  face  seemingly  hewed  from  stone,  although 

6 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

handsome  in  its  stern  mold.  His  hair  was 
black  and  he  wore  it  low  between  his  cheek 
and  ear.  There  was  the  free,  easy  swing  to 
his  walk,  like  the  half-lope  of  a  desert  wolf. 

The  patriarch  halted  the  caravan  on  the 
trail,  just  short  of  the  street  end,  and  gazed 
across  at  the  funeral.  The  younger  man 
glanced  over  there,  with  little  show  of  in- 
terest. 

"Duke,"  the  old  man  jerked  his  head  toward 
the  graveyard,  "I  reckon  they're  plantin' 
somebody.  Let's  me  and  you  go  over." 

They  left  their  burro  on  the  trail  and 
crossed  over,  attracting  little  attention.  The 
crowd  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  someone. 
Two  men  were  standing  near  the  grave,  talk- 
ing earnestly.  Suddenly  one  of  them  looked 
up  and  saw  the  newcomers.  He  walked  ab- 
ruptly away  from  his  companion  and  halted 
a  few  feet  from  the  white-bearded  man. 

7 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Podner,  by  yore  whiskers  yo're  a  preacher; 
are  yuh?" 

The  bearded  one's  right  hand  came  up  and 
slowly  stroked  the  white  mass  of  hair,  which 
hung  nearly  to  his  waist-line. 

"By  my  beard,"  nodded  the  old  man  slowly, 
which  neither  affirmed  nor  denied  in  fact,  but 
but  seemed  to  bring  joy  to  the  heart  of  his 
questioner,  who  turned  on  his  heel,  facing  the 
crowd. 

"Folks,  we're  playin'  in  luck.  The  funeral 
will  proceed  jist  like  nothin'  happened  extra- 
ordinary." 

"Just  a  moment,  pardner,"  said  the  bearded 
one,  "What  happens  to  be  the  matter?" 

"Not  a  damn  thing,"  laughed  the  man.  "We 
needed  a  preacher  awful  bad — you  showed 
up.  There  yuh  are !" 

"Have  you  no  preacher?" 

"We  did  have.  Yessir,  we  shore  had  a  reg- 
8 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

'lar  one,  and  he  was  plumb  tidy  and  slick  on 
funerals — yessir.  But  he  forgot  himself 
complete-like  last  night  when  he  'lowed  there 
wasn't  no  honest  rules  of  averages,  which 
gives  him  small  cards  all  the  time,  while  'Ace' 
Ault  get  nothin'  smaller  than  kings-up  in  ten 
deals." 

"Hm-m-m,"  the  white  bearded  one  almost 
smiled,  "Where  is  this  poker-playin'  preacher 
now?" 

"Well,  hell's  delight!"  grunted  the  other. 
"He's  in  the  casket!  We  plumb  forgot  that  he 
couldn't  say  his  own  oration.  That's  where 
you  comes  in  handy,  like  a  gun  in  a  boot." 

The  patriarch's  head  turned  slightly  and 
his  eyes  flashed  to  the  face  of  his  companion, 
who  was  regarding  him  with  stony  counten- 
ance, although  the  eyes  twitched  slightly  at 
the  outer  corners,  a  sure  sign  that  Duke  Steele 
was  greatly  amused. 

9 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

The  bearded  one  crossed  to  the  grave  and 
looked  down  at  the  rough  coffin,  while  the 
audience  moved  in  closer.  A  burro  brayed 
raucously  and  two  'more  of  the  long-eared 
beasts  added  their  brazen  throats  to  the  racket. 
A  miner  heaved  a  rock  against  the  ribs  of  the 
nearest  beast,  and  the  animal  clattered  away 
for  a  few  jumps,  looking  back  solemnly,  sadly, 

"Friends,"  the  bearded  man's  voice  was 
deep  and  musical,  as  he  lifted  his  bared  head 
and  let  his  eyes  travel  around  the  assemblage, 
"f riends,  I  have  been  asked  to  say  a  few  words 
over  the  mortal  remains  of  one  of  God's 
anointed ;  a  man  who  has  labored  in  this  land 
of  sin  and  sinners  that  the  Gospel  might  be 
brought  home  to  you  all.  He  was  fearless  in 
his  righteousness;  a  guide,  friend  and  spirit- 
ual counselor. 

"He  is  with  you  no  more,  except  in  spirit, 

but  his  many  good  works  will  live  long  after 

i 

10 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

his  name  has  been  forgotten.  I  can  see  him 
now — a  bulwark  of  strength  to  the  weak,  a 
solace  to  the  suffering  and  a  friend  to  all  man- 
kind. I  can  see  him " 

"Wait  a  moment,  parson,"  interrupted  the 
man  who  had  asked  the  bearded  one  to  deliver 
the  sermon.  He  stepped  forward,  hat  in 
hand,  clearing  his  throat  apologetically.  "I 
ain't  no  hand  to  stop  a  feller  from  sayin'  what 
he  thinks;  but  did  you  know  'Preacher  Bill' 
Bushnell?" 

The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"No,  I  did  not  know  him,  friend." 

"I  didn't  reckon  yuh  did,  parson.  We  did. 
I  believe  in  sayin'  everythin'  good  yuh  can 
fer  a  dead  man,  but  there  ain't  no  use  of  yuh 
lyin'  to  us  about  Preacher  Bill." 

The  old  man  glanced  down  at  the  coffin, 
lifted  his  head  slowly  and  nodded. 

"If  the  Lord  is  willing,  I  will  take  back 
ii 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

what  I  said  about  him,  and  start  all  over 
again.  Wasn't  he  your  minister?  Did  he 
not  labor  among  you?" 

"He  preached,"  admitted  a  bearded  miner 
seriously,  and  added,  "when  he  was  sober 
enough.  He  owed  everybody  in  Calico,  and 
if  he  left  any  good  works  he  sure  had  'em 
cached  where  nobody'll  ever  find  'em." 

The  bearded  man  nodded  slowly  and  cleared 
his  throat. 

"Under  those  conditions,  friends,  I  suppose 
I  might  as  well  keep  away  from  personalities, 
and  stick  to  the  ordinary  burial  service.  Has 
anyone  a  Bible?" 

The  assemblage  looked  at  each  other  and 
back  at  the  bearded  one. 

"Preacher  Bill  had  one — once,"  stated  a 
frock-coated  gambler.  "I  dunno  what  he 
done  with  it.  If  you're  a  preacher  where  is 
your  Bible?" 

12 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

The  bearded  one  glanced  quickly  at  the 
gambler  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Let  me  have  a  deck  of  cards,  will  you?" 

"Cards?"  queried  the  gambler,  "I  have  no 
cards." 

"Then  you  are  no  better  heeled  than  I  am, 
partner.  I  have  no  Bible,  you  have  no  cards." 
He  leaned  down  and  placed  a  hand  on  the 
rough  casket. 

"Preacher  Bill,  I  wish  I  had  known  you 
well  enough  to  have  something  to  say  about 
you..  No  doubt  you  were  a  hard  drinker,  of 
very  little  value  to  any  community,  and 
showed  poor  judgment  in  objecting  audibly 
against  a  run  of  bad  poker  luck,  but  no  man 
can  live  through  childhood  and  well  into  life's 
narrow  span  without  doing  some  good — leav- 
ing somebody  better  for  having  known  you. 
Let  him  who  is  without  sin  cast  the  first  stone. 
Good-by,  Preacher  Bill."  . 

13 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

The  bearded  man  straightened  up  and 
looked  at  the  crowd. 

"Friends,  I  ask  you  to  try  and  remember 
the  good  things  he  has  done  and  forget  the 
bad.  We  are  all  children  of  circumstance. 
The  Bible  says,  'The  son  of  man  goeth  as  it 
is  written  of  him.' 

"Whether  or  not  this  means  that  our  destiny 
is  all  written  out  in  the  good  book,  I  do  not 
know.  Perhaps  poor  Preacher  Bill  merely 
traveled  according  to  what  had  been  written 
of  him — powerless  to  do  otherwise.  Shall  we 
say  that  he  was  unfit?  I  think  that  is  all  I 
can  say." 

"Parson,"  one  of  the  miners  stepped  out  of 
the  crowd  and  held  out  his  hand  to  the  old 
man,  "if  you  start  a  church  here,  I'll  sure  as 
hell  go  to  hear  yuh  preach." 

The  old  man  smiled  sadly,  shook  hands  with 
several  of  the  miners  and  turned  back  to 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

where  Duke  Steele  stood.  They  looked 
closely  at  each  other,  turned  and  went  back  to 
their  burro,  without  a  word ;  while  the  mortal 
remains  of  Preacher  Bill  Bushnell  were  low- 
ered one  foot  deep  into  Hell's  Depot  and  piled 
high  with  heavy  stones. 

"Le  Saint,"  said  Duke  Steele,  as  they  plod- 
ded toward  the  street,  "I  wonder  what  will  be 
said  over  your  remains?" 

The  old  man  turned  his  head  and  glanced 
back  toward  the  group  at  the  cemetery. 

"I  wonder,  Duke.  Perhaps  I  shall  be  lucky 
enough  to  have  my  funeral  oration  spoken  by 
a  man  who  did  not  know  me  any  better  than  I 
knew  Preacher  Bill.  Will  he  say,  This  is 
Paget  Le  Saint/  or  will  he  say  The  Saint?7  I 
wonder.  Still,  what  should  I  care,  Duke?" 

"Damn  little  difference  it  makes,  after  a 
man's  dead,"  nodded  Duke  Steele. 

"True  as  Gospel,  Duke.  Life  is  the  only 
15 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

thing  that  interests  me;  death  I  know  nothing 
about — nor  care." 

And  the  Saint  spoke  truly,  when  he  said  he 
did  not  care;  for  the  Saint  was  a  fatalist,  a 
gambler,  who  staked  his  life  against  other 
men's  gold.  Just  as  surely  as  Kidd  and  Mor- 
gan were  pirates  of  the  seas,  the  Saint  was  a 
pirate  of  the  Desert,  whose  appearance  belied 
his  calling.  Men  seemed  to  speak  softly  in 
his  presence,  as  though  awed  by  the  majesty 
of  his  face  and  great  white  beard.  Oaths 
never  passed  his  lips  and  no  man  had  ever  seen 
him  take  a  drink  of  liquor.  He  censured  no 
man  for  doing  evil,  and  his  open  philosophy 
of  life  fitted  in  well  with  the  rough  lands  of 
the  West. 

No  man,  except  Duke  Steele,  knew  the  real 
business  of  the  Saint,  and  he  knew  only  be- 
cause they  were  of  a  kind.  Duke  Steele  was 
a  gunman,  a  killer,  a  gambler,  and  he,  alone, 

16 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

knew  that  the  Saint  was  all  of  these.  An  old 
wolf  in  the  raiment  of  a  sheep ;  as  resourceful 
and  dangerous  as  an  old  wolf,  and  with  the 
brain  of  a  Solomon. 

But  no  man,  not  excepting  Duke  Steele, 
knew  anything  more  about  the  Saint  than  they 
had  observed  from  contact  with  him,  for  he 
confided  in  no  man.  He  had  wandered  much, 
and  at  times  would  mention  distant  parts  of 
the  country. 

Names  seemed  to  interest  him  greatly— 
names  of  men.  It  was  as  though  he  was 
always  searching  for  a  certain  name,  which 
he  could  only  remember  by  hearing  it  spoken. 
Duke  Steele  wondered  at  times  if  the  Saint 
was  not  just  a  trifle  insane. 

For  he  was  a  strange  personality  at  times; 
given  to  brooding,  violence,  turning  in  a  flash 
to  extreme  kindness  and  good  humor.  He 
often  spoke  his  own  name,  as  though  mocking 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

himself.  But  of  his  ancestry,  his  early  life, 
he  made  no  mention., 

Duke  Steele  had  been  one  of  his  gang  in  a 
raid  on  the  Cohise  mines,  which  had  been 
skilfully  planned  and  executed,  and  without 
the  loss  of  a  man. 

Three  weeks  before  the  Saint's  outfit  had 
boasted  of  twelve  men.  Where  the  other  ten 
were  now  could  only  be  told  by  a  bunch  of 
Apaches,  who  ambushed  them  beyond  the 
Colorado.  The  Saint  and  Duke  Steele  were 
the  only  ones  to  escape. 

The  plunder  of  the  Cohise  mining  camp 
had  been  taken  by  the  Indians,  and  the  Saint 
and  Steele  were  forced  to  be  content  with  sav- 
ing their  lives  and  one  burro.  But  Steele  was 
an  optimist  and  the  Saint  did  not  care  for 
money.  It  meant  nothing  to  him. 

Men  believed  him  insane,  at  times,  because 
of  his  total  disregard  for  wealth.  He  .would 

18 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

nurse  a  sick  man  with  all  the  tenderness  of  a 
woman,  or  kill  a  malcontent  with  the  cold- 
bloodedness of  a  tiger.  But  travel,  he  must, 
His  eyes  ever  turned  toward  the  hills,  as 
though  he  was  wondering  what  was  on  the 
other  side.  A  prospector  had  told  them  of 
Calico,  and  to  Calico  they  had  come,  with  not 
a  drop  of  water  nor  a  crumb  of  food  left. 

"The  Lord  must  be  looking  out  for  us,"  ob- 
served Duke  Steele,  as  they  herded  their  burro 
up  the  main  street. 

"Fate,"  corrected  the  Saint.  "The  Lord 
has  nothing  to  do  with  this  place,  Duke.  It 
looks  like  the  devil  might  have  located  it,  did 
one  or  two  assessments,  and  relinquished  it  on 
account  of  the  heat." 

A  man  crossed  the  street  ahead  of  them  and 
the  Saint  stopped  him  with  the  question, 
"Friend,  can  you  tell  us  where  we  may  find 
lodging?" 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Lodging?"  The  man  parroted  the  word. 
"There  ain't  a  hotel  in  Calico.  Better  see 
Sleed,  I  reckon.  Since  Preacher  Bill  got 
killed  there's  a  vacant  hole  in  Sunshine  Alley, 
and  maybe  yuh  can  rent  it  from  Sleed." 

"And  who  is  Sleed?"  asked  the  Saint. 

"Who?"  The  man  looked  curiously  at 
them.  "Yuh  must  be  strangers  in  this  part  of 
the  country  if  yuh  don't  know  who  Sleed  is. 
He's  the  big  man  around  here. 

"Owns  the  Silver  Bar  saloon  over  there, 
and  owns  the  California  at  Cactus  City.  Owns 
the  Lady  Slipper  and  the  Nola  mines,  which 
are  the  biggest  producers  here.  Sleed  was 
one  of  the  original  locators,  and  he  sure  does 
own  this  town,  y'betcha." 

"He  owns  the  hole  yuh  spoke  about?"  quer- 
ied Steele. 

"Yep — owns  most  all  of  the  Alley.  You 
just  ask  for  Silver  Sleed  over  at  the  Silver  Bar 

20 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

saloon.  'S  funny  yuh  never  heard  of  Silver 
Sleed." 

"No  doubt,"  nodded  the  Saint  "Our 
sources  of  information  appear  very  lax  in  not 
apprising  us  of  this  great  personage.  Still, 
it  is  never  too  late  to  meet  the  great.  We  both 
thank  you,  friend. " 

The  Saint  turned  the  burro  toward  the 
front  of  the  Silver  Bar  saloon,  while  their  in- 
formant shuffled  his  feet  in  the  gravel  street 
and  wondered  whether  or  not  the  old  patri- 
arch was  making  fun  of  him.  The  Saint  wras 
not  over  fifty  years  of  age,  but  looked  seventy. 

Silver  Sleed  was  a  giant  of  a  man,  with  a 
great  black  beard,  which  grew  almost  to  his 
eyes;. eyes  that  reflected  a  greenish  light,  like 
the  sheen  of  jade.  He  wore  his  hair  long, 
after  the  fashion  of  the  time,  and  his  clothes 
were  a  trifle  extreme,  but  befitted  his  occupa- 
tion and  position  as  the  richest  and  most 

21 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

powerful  man  in  the  country.  The  law  had 
never  penetrated  the  Calico  hills,  so  Silver 
Sleed  set  himself  up  as  judge  and  arbiter,  from 
which  there  was  no  appeal.  In  all  cases 
which  did  not  directly  or  indirectly  affect 
himself  or  his  interests,  he  was  fair  in  his 
decisions. 

The  Silver  Bar  saloon  was  not  a  pretentious 
place,  being  one  story  high,  built  of  adobe,  but 
it  was  the  largest  building  in  Calico.  The 
floor  space  was  about  forty  feet  wide  by  sixty 
feet  deep,  which  was  taken  up  by  a  long  bar, 
gambling  layouts 'and  a  dance  floor.  It  was 
the  only  saloon  in  Calico,  which  was  con- 
clusive evidence  that  Sleed  owned  the 
town. 

Calico  spoke  many  languages,  but  among 
this  polyglot  of  tongues,  only  one,  Louie  Yen, 
spoke  Chinese.  Sleed  did  not  like  Chinese,  so 
he  limited  the  camp  to  Louie  Yen,  who  was 

22 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

a  "velly  good  laundly — yessum."  Louie  was 
so  old  that  he  claimed  to  remember  the  time 
when  Ruby  Hill  was  nothing  but  a  hole  in 
the  ground ;  old  and  very  wise,  after  his  own 
fashion. 

But  no  man  may  rule  a  community  without 
assistance.  Sleed  surrounded  himself  with  a 
few  trusted  men,  who  were  paid  for  doing  cer- 
tain things  without  asking  the  why  and  where- 
fore; men  who  might  be  undesirable  to  a  vil- 
lage of  God-fearing  folk,  but  passing  un- 
noticed in  Calico,  where,  according  to  the 
parlance  of  Sunshine  Alley,  everything 
went,  except  the  cook-stove  and  one  joint 
of  pipe. 

Just  now  Sleed  was  standing  with  his  back 
to  the  bar,  in  the  saloon,  his  eyes  squinted,  as 
though  in  deep  thought.  Beside  him  stood  a 
slender,  dark-featured  man,  dressed  in  the 
habiliments  of  the  professional  gambler.  His 

23 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

black  eyes  were  sullen  and  shifty,  and  his  long 
fingers  moved  nervously  at  his  sides,  as  he 
flashed  a  sidewise  glance  at  Sleed. 

"That's  your  idea  of  a  square  deal,  is  it, 
Sleed?" 

Sleed  turned  his  head  and  looked  coldly  at 
the  gambler. 

"Ace  Ault,  this  ain't  no  deal.  You  killed 
Preacher  Bill  because — well,  not  because  he 
said  yuh  dealt  a  crooked  game,  but  because 
yuh  was  jealous." 

"Jealous,  hell!"  snapped  Ault.  "He 
said " 

"I  know  what  he  said,"  interrupted  Sleed 
coldly.  "It  gave  yuh  the  chance  yuh  wanted, 
Ault.  Preached  Bill  was  a  dirty  old  bum 
and  his  tongue  was  against  him,  but  he  was 
educatin'  Luck.  He  was  smart,  and  he 
was  learnin'  her  a  lot  of  things.  She  liked 
him." 

24 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"And  because  I  protected  my  honor  against 
his  lying  tongue  IVe  got  to  leave  the  camp, 
eh?"  queried  Ault  sarcastically. 

"Honor?"  Sleed  laughed  into  his  beard. 
"Honor?  Good  God,  when  did  a  tinhorn  like 
you  get  any  honor?" 

Ault's  face  went  a  trifle  darker,  and  he  lifted 
his  hands  to  a  level  with  his  waist. 

"You  travel  muy  pronto"  snapped  Sleed. 
"Better  go  north,  Ault,  so  yuh  won't  have  any 
reason  even  to  pass  Calico  town  again." 

"Think  so?"  snapped  Ault.  His  right  hand 
flashed  up  from  under  his  coat.  From  across 
the  room  came  the  jarring  thud  of  a  pistol 
shot,  and  Ault  jerked  back,  firing  his  pistol  a 
foot  over  Sleed's  head.  For  a  moment  Ault's 
eyes  shifted  around;' the  room,  as  he  grasped  at 
the  bar  for  support,  half- turned  toward  the 
door  and  fell  sprawling. 

One  of  Sleed's  men  came  slowly  across  the 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

room,  pistol  in  hand,  watching  Ault  closely. 
Sleed's  expression  had  not  changed. 

"Quick  work,  Loper,"  he  said  softly.  Loper 
nodded  and  shoved  his  gun  back  into  its 
holster. 

Just  then  the  Saint  and  Duke  Steele  came 
into  the  door.  Sleed  looked  at  them  indiffer- 
ently, and  motioned  for  some  more  men  to 
assist  in  carrying  Ault's  body  out  of  the  place. 
The  Saint  and  Steele  stood  aside  and  watched 
the  men  file  out. 

"Silver  Sleed?"  asked  Steele. 

Sleed  looked  at  him  for  a  moment;  glanced 
toward  the  door  as  he  nodded.  Some  of  the 
men  who  had  been  at  the  graveyard  were  com- 
ing in,  looking  curiously  back  at  the  men 
carrying  Ace  Ault. 

"We're  lookin'  for  a  place  to  live  in,"  said 
Steele.  "A  man  told  us  to  see  Silver 
Sleed." 

26 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

'"Yeah?"  Sleed  squinted  at  the  Saint  and 
back  to  Steele. 

"Whatcha  goin'  to  do  in  Calico?" 

"You  didn't  expect  an  answer  to  that,  did 
yuh?"  asked  Steele,  with  a  smile. 

Sleed  grunted  softly.  One  of  the  men 
from  the  graveyard  stepped  in  and  spoke  to 
Sleed. 

"The  graybeard's  a  preacher,  Sleed.  He 
said  a  few  things  for  Preacher  Bill,  and  they 
was  damn  well  said,  after  he  got  put  right." 

Sleed  looked  at  the  Saint  curiously,  and 
found  the  Saint  looking  straight  at  him. 
Something  in  that  glance  seemed  to  bother 
Sleed.  It  was  as  though  this  tall,  white- 
bearded,  hawk-eyed  man  was  peering  into 
things  that  Sleed  did  not  want  anyone  to  see. 
Sleed  glanced  down  at  the  floor  for  a  moment 
and  nodded. 

"I  reckon  there's  places  to  live  in.  Yuh 
27 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

can  have  Preacher  Bill's  place  or  yuh  can 
have — "  Sleed  looked  up  and  glanced  to- 
ward the  door — "I  think  yuh  can  have  the 
place  where  Ace  Ault  lived." 

"We  both  thank  you,  sir."  The  Saint's 
voice  boomed  like  the  deep  notes  of  a  pipe- 
organ. 

Sleed  glanced  quickly  at  him  and  saw  that 
the  Saint's  eyes  were  closed,  as  though  he  had 
shut  out  material  things  while  he  thought 
deeply. 

"I'll  show  'em  the  places,  Sleed." 

It  was  the  miner  who  had  offered  to  come 
to  church  in  case  the  Saint  would  do  the 
preaching.  Sleed  nodded  and  turned  back  to 
the  bar,  but  he  watched  the  three  men  go  out 
of  the  door. 

"Loper,  who  are  them  two  men?"  he  asked, 

"I  dunno."     Loper  shook  his  head. 

"Find  out." 

28 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

Sleed  turned  back  to  the  bar  and  called  for 
whiskey.  For  some"  unknown  reason  he  was 
worried.  The  killing  of  Ault  amounted  to 
nothing.  He  discarded  that  as  a  possible 
reason  for  his  unrest.  Was  it  the  white- 
bearded  man?  Sleed  scowled  at  his  glass  of 
liquor  for  a  moment  and  placed  it  back  on  the 
bar  untasted. 


II 


Saint  and  Steele  found  that  there  was 

N 

A  little  choice  between  the  two  dwellings, 
but  they  selected  the  one  made  vacant  by  the 
death  of  Preacher  Bill.  It  was  a  roofless, 
windowless,  rock  hut  about  ten  feet  square, 
built  in  an  angle  of  the  canyon  which  sup- 
plied two  of  the  walls.  An  open  fireplace 
was  used  for  cooking,  and  the  utensils  were 
either  placed  on  rock  shelves  or  on  the  ground. 

Preacher  Bill's  blankets  were  still  spread 
from  his  last  night's  sleep,  but  the  larder  was 
empty. 

"I  reckon  yuh  can  get  along,"  said  their 
guide.  "I'm  Jim  Gates,  but  most  everybody 
calls  me  'Mica.'  'S  I  said  before,  if  yuh  start 
preachin',  I'm  goin'  t'  have  a  front  seat." 

30 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

He  started  away,  but  turned  back. 

"Say,  if  yuh  get  a  call  to  speak  over  the  re- 
mains of  Ace  Ault,  I  can  tell  yuh  a  few  things 
to  make  yore  oration  easier.  Ault  was  crooked 
as  a  snake  in  a  cactus  patch.  He  never " 

Mica  Gates  stopped  talking  and  cleared  his 
throat.  A  girl  had  come  up  near  the  door- 
way and  was  looking  at  them.  She  was  about 
twenty  years  of  age,  fairly  well  dressed.  A 
pair  of  big,  brown  eyes,  misty  with  tears, 
looked  at  them  from  a  cameo-like  face,  which 
was  framed  in  a  mass  of  brown  hair.  Her 
cheeks  were  streaked  with  tear-marks  and  her 
lips  quivered  as  she  looked  around.  Then  she 
turned,  without  a  word,  and  disappeared 
around  the  canyon  wall. 

"Bleed's  daughter,"  said  Gates  softly.  "Her 
name  is  Nola,  but  Sleed  said  she  was  his  luck 
so  many  times  that  everybody  calls  her  Luck." 

"Been  cryinV'  said  Steele  wonderingly. 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Uh-huh.  Mebbe  yuh  didn't  see  her  down 
to  Hell's  Depot.  She  was  there.  I  reckon 
she  was  the  only  one  to  care  about  Preacher 
Bill.  Yuh  see,  she  ain't  had  no  chance  to 
learn  book  teachin's,  until  Preacher  Bill  took 
to  learnin'  her.  He  was  eddicated  a  lot,  and 
she  sure  wanted  to  learn." 

Steele  nodded.  "She's  a  mighty  pretty  girl. 
Gates." 

"And  'nother  thing,"  said  Gates  softly,  "yuh 
don't  want  to  have  nothin'  t'  do  with  her. 
Sleed's  a  killer,  where  Luck's  concerned. 
Mebbe  that's  one  reason  why  Ault  got  a  ticket 
for  the  Depot.  Jist  let  her  alone  and  don't 
cross  Silver  Sleed,  and  you'll  git  along  here. 
What  did  yuh  say  yore  names  was?" 

"The  Saint  held  out  his  hand  and  Gates 
shook  hands  with  him,  flinching  from  the 
Crushing  grip  of  the  Saint's  hand. 

"We  both  thank  you,  Mica  Gates,"  boomed 
32 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

the  Saint.     "If  I  preach  in  Calico  town  I 
shall  deem  it  a  pleasure  to  see  you  in  the  front 


row." 


Mica  Gates  bobbed  his  head  and  hurried 
away.  He  flexed  his  right  hand  and  shook 
his  head. 

"My  Gawd,  I  never  knowed  a  preacher 
with  a  grip  like  that — nossir!  I  didn't  find 
out  their  names  and  I'm  danged  if  I'd  ever 
ask  any  man  twice." 

Gates  climbed  back  up  the  rocky  trail  to 
the  street,  where  he  met  Loper. 

"Where  did  they  hole  up?"  asked  Loper. 

"Preacher  Bill's  place." 

"Ask  'em  their  names,  Mica?" 

"Y'betcha,  I  did." 

"What  names  did  they  give  yuh?" 

Mica  Gates  glanced  back  down  the  trail, 
wiped  the  perspiration  off  his  brow  with  the 
back  of  his  hand. 

33 


SPAWN  OF.THE  DESERT 

"They  ain't  givin'  away  names,  I  reckon." 

"Yuri  asked  'em.  didn't  yuh?"  snapped  Lop- 
er  angrily. 

"Y'betcha,  I  did.  Mebbe  they  didn't  hear 
me — I  dunno." 

Loper  hitched  up  his  belt  and  strode  back 
to  the  street.  It  was  very  hot  and  he  had  no 
desire  to  climb  down  into  Sunshine  Alley  and 
argue  about  names. 


34 


Ill 

TT  7E'VE  got  a  home,"  said  Duke  Steele 
dubiously,  as  he  leaned  against  the 
rough  stone  door-way,  squinting  in  the  re- 
flected light  from  the  desert  sun;  "but  when 
we  got  there  the  cupboard  was  bare." 

"Yes,"  nodded  the  Saint,  "but  how  long 
have  we  fasted,  Duke?  Since  breakfast." 
He  pointed  at  the  hills  above  them,  dotted 
with  tunnels,  where  a  host  of  men  drove  into 
the  bowels  of  the  earth.  Came  the  dull  jar 
of  blasting,  the  rattle  of  falling  rock  from  the 
ever-growing  dumps. 

"Men  are  toiling  up  there,  Duke;  while 
down  on  the  street  another  group  of  non- 
toilers  are  planning  to  get  the  fruits  of  that 
labor,  without  toil.  You  and  I  do  not  toil; 

35 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

therefore  we  must  use  our  brains  to  devise  ways 
and  means  to  get  the  necessary  provender." 

"Just  about  how?"  queried  Duke. 

The  Saint  unrolled  some  of  his  meager  be- 
longings on  the  stone  floor,  and  in  the  center 
of  it  all  was  a  small  package.  The  Saint 
picked  this  up  and  got  to  his  feet. 

"Duke,  it  has  been  seldom  that  I  have  had 
to  stoop  to  their  use,  but  when  I  am  forced 
to  such  an  extremity  they  never  fail." 

"Meaning  what?"  smiled  Duke. 

The  Saint  unrolled  the  small  package  and 
held  in  his  hand  two  halves  of  a  walnut;  empty 
of  all  meat,  and  polished  to  a  mahogany  finish. 
In  one  of  the  halves  was  a  polished  black  ob- 
ject, about  the  size  of  a  garden  pea. 

"The  tools  of  a  cheap  gambler,"  said  the 
Saint,  studying  Duke's  dubious  expression. 
"Yet  one  must  be  dexterous  and  have  the 
courage  of  his  calling." 

36 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Where  does  the  game  come  in?"  asked 
Duke. 

The  Saint  knelt  down  on  a  blanket, 
smoothed  it  out  and  placed  the  two  shells 
open  side  down.  He  slipped  the  black  pea 
under  one  of  the  shells,  and  with  a  rapid  twist 
of  his  hand  and  fingers,  shuffled  the  shells  for 
a  moment. 

"Which  one  is  it  under,  Duke?"  he  asked. 

Duke  indicated  the  one  and  the  Saint  lifted 
the  shell.  There  was  no  pea  under  it.  The 
Saint  repeated  the  process  slower  this  time, 
and  Duke  Steele  was  willing  to  bet  his  neck 
on  picking  the  right  shell,  but  he  was  mis- 
taken. 

"Is  it  under  the  other  shell,  Saint?"  he 
asked. 

"That  is  hardly  a  fair  question,  Duke.  Just 
supposing  I  had  opened  my  game,  and  a  bet- 
tor had  picked  the  other  shell.  Would  it  be 

37 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

good  policy  to  have  the  pea  under  that  shell? 
In  our  financial  condition  we  cannot  afford 
to  take  any  great  chances,  and  I  know  of  no 
smaller  chances  of  losing  than  by  operating 
the  two  little  walnut  shells." 

Duke  nodded  shortly.  "I  reckon  that's 
right,  Saint.  Looks  to  me  like  Sleed  has  this 
place  under  his  thumb.  I  suppose  he's  got 
every  gunman  working  for  him,  which  makes 
it  a  poor  place  for  us." 

The  Saint  placed  the  two  shells  in  his 
pocket  and  came  to  the  doorway.  The  setting 
sun  slanted  against  the  expanse  of  Ruby  Hill, 
bringing  out  a  myriad  of  colors,  until  the 
whole  land  seemed  to  be  a  vast  drop-curtain 
of  fantastic  shades.  The  voices  of  men  drift- 
ed down  to  them  as  clear  cut  as  the  tinkling  of 
bells.  The  rasp  of  a  pick,  the  clank  of  ham- 
mer on  steel  seemed  to  come  from  the  air 
above  them  and  at  no  great  distance. 

38 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

And  like  the  dimming  of  a  great  light  the 
sun  moved  its  rays  swiftly  up  the  side  of  the 
mountain,  leaving  in  its  track  a  misty  softness, 
almost  as  blue  as  moonlight.  Blast  after 
blast  seemed  to  jar  the  world,  as  the  last  shots 
of  the  afternooA  were  fired.  A  few  moments 
later,  like  ants  coming  from  their  burrows, 
the  men  came  from  their  tunnels  and  down  the 
steep  hillside,  while  from  Sunshine  Alley  the 
supper  fires  sent  up  long,  straight  streamers 
of  smoke  to  signal  them  home. 

"Men  will  always  toil,"  said  the  Saint,  as 
though  talking  to  himself.  "Toil  day  after 
day  until  their  span  of  life  is  done,  and  after 
them  their  sons  will  take  up  the  toil  and  carry 
it  on.  And  what  does  it  all  mean?  Will  the 
work  that  these  men  are  doing  amount  to  any- 
thing in  the  final  scheme  of  things?  Will  the 
sweat  of  their  brows  and  the  callouses  on 
their  hands  mean  anything?" 

39 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Is  there  a  reason  for  things,  I  wonder, 
Duke?"  He  turned  and  put  his  hand  on 
Steele's  shoulder.  "I  have  no  conscience,  no 
morals.  I  have  killed,  like  the  wolf  kills, 
and  yet  I  have  no  fear  of  death — only  wonder. 

"I  have  studied  men  from  the  frozen  North 
to  the  tropics.  I  know  their  different  breeds, 
languages,  customs.  I  have  seen  a  Cree  chief 
die,  and  I  have  seen  the  passing  of  a  Yaqui 
brave.  I  have  seen  the  mystery  of  the  un- 
known come  into  the  eyes  of  a  learned  man, 
and  I  have  held  the  wrist  of  a  dying  degener- 
ate. They  all  die  alike,  Duke.  Never  have 
I  seen  a  man  who  did  not  fight  against  the 
death,  and  I  have  never  seen  one  pass  into  the 
borderland  with  a  smile  of  welcome.  Always 
that  mystery. 

"Sometimes  I  wonder  if  death  is  a  punish- 
ment. The  fear  of  death  is  punishment  to 
most  men,  no  matter  who  they  are.  A  min- 

40 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

ister  of  the  Gospel  fights  against  the  hand  of 
death  as  strongly  as  the  worst  sinner  ever 
bred,  and  why?     The  hereafter  is  a  mystery- 
life  is  just  as  great  a  mystery." 

Duke  nodded,  solemnly.  "I  reckon  you're 
right,  Saint.  I  kinda  feel  sorry  for  Sleed's 
girl." 

The  Saint  looked  down  at  the  rocky  floor 
and  smiled  in  his  great  beard. 

"Life  is  no  mystery  to  youth,  and  you  are 
only  thirty  years  of  age,  Duke.  But  don't 
feel  sorry  for  Sleed's  girl.  In  the  first  place, 
she  is  Sleed's  girl;  in  the  second  place,  you  are 
Duke  Steele." 

Duke  swung  away  from  the  doorway  and 
looked  up  the  hill  toward  the  town.  He 
turned  and  looked  at  the  Saint. 

"I — I  reckon  you're  right,  Saint  I  kinda 
forgot." 


IV 

TT  CAN'T  be  beat,  friends.  The  more  you 
put  down,  the  less  you  take  up.  Never 
buck  another  man's  game,  because  it  was  not 
invented  to  lose  money  for  its  owner.  The 
gent  bets  five  that  he  can  pick  the  right  shell. 

"One  at  a  time,  gents.  This  is  a  one  man 
game,  unless  you  both  want  to  bet  on  the  same 
shell.  Empty  again,  gents.  Where's  the 
next  man  who  is  foolish  enough  to  think  he 
can  beat  a  sure-thing  game?" 

The  Saint's  voice  boomed  softly  as  he  pock- 
eted the  bet  and  slowly  moved  the  two  walnut 
shells.  The  yellgw  light  from  the  Silver  Bar 
windows  lit  up  his  white  hair  and  white  beard, 
as  he  lifted  himself  to  his  full  height  and 
studied  the  crowd  in  the  street. 

42 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

The  Saint  had  secured  a  small,  rough  table, 
which  he  had  placed  in  the  street,  using  the 
lights  from  the  saloon  to  illuminate  his  game. 
A  big  moon,  peeping  over  Ruby  Hill,  lit  up 
the  street  in  a  soft  blue  haze,  broken  by  the 
blocky  shadows  of  the  rough  buildings,  and 
shot  here  and  there  by  the  yellow  lights  from 
oil  lamp  or  candle. 

The  narrow  street  was  thronged  with  peo- 
ple, for  Sunshine  Alley  moved  to  the  main 
street  at  night.  Money  was  plentiful,  and  the 
toilers  threw  it  away,  living  only  in  the  pres- 
ent. 

The  shell  game  was  new  to  Calico,  and 
Calico  was  anxious  to  welcome  something 
new.  Men  jostled  each  other  for  a  chance  to 
place  a  bet;  while  the  Saint's  voice  boomed  a 
warning  to  each  and  all. 

"It  can't  be  beat,  brother.  The  hand  is 
quicker  than  the  eye.  Another  empty  shell." 

43 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Don't  nobody  ever  win?"  asked  a  miner. 

"Nobody,  brother.  Again  I  say  to  you  all, 
it  can't  be  beaten." 

The  crowd  laughed.  It  was  unusual  for  a 
game-keeper  to  declare  that  no  one  can  beat 
his  game.  The  Saint  was  deadly  serious,  and 
this  amused  the  crowd.  Another  man,  who 
had  watched  several  bets  swept  from  the  table, 
moved  in  and  tossed  several  gold  pieces  beside 
the  shells. 

"Pick  up  your  money,  friend,"  urged  the 
Saint.  "You  can't  win.  Might  as  well  toss 
your  money  into  the  dust  and  walk  away  from 
it.  All  right,  if  you  insist.  Thank  you  for 
the  present." 

The  man  turned  away  and  went  toward  the 
saloon  door.  Duke  Steele  had  been  watching 
the  game  and  now  he  moved  in  closer  to  the 
Saint,  who  dug  into  his  pocket  and  handed 
Duke  a  fistful  of  money. 

44 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Take  a  spin  at  the  wheel,  son.  I  don't 
want  to  take  all  of  Silver  Steed's  business 

away  from  him." 

< 

"I  reckon  Sleed  can  stand  it  better  than  we 
can,"  laughed  a  miner,  who  had  donated  lib- 
erally to  the  elusive  black  pea. 

Duke  moved  out  of  the  crowd  and  started 
for  the  saloon  door,  when  he  came  face  to 
face  with  Sleed's  Luck.  The  girl  was  stand- 
ing on  the  raised  step  of  the  saloon  watching 
the  crowd  around  the  Saint,  but  now  she 
looked  straight  at  Duke,  who  removed  his 
sombrero  slowly.  He  wanted  to  speak  to  her, 
but  turned  and  started  on  into  the  Silver  Bar, 
realizing  that  he  had  never  met  her. 

"Wait,"  she  said  softly,  and  he  stopped. 
Loper  came  out  of  the  door  and  walked  to  the 
edge  of  the  steps,  looking  toward  the  crowd 
in  the  street. 

"You  wanted  to  speak  to  me?"  asked  Duke. 
45 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Yes,  I  want  to  speak  to  you — about — him." 
She  motioned  toward  the  Saint  as  she  spoke. 

"My  pardner?"  queried  Duke. 

"Yes.  I — I  heard  him  at  the  graveyard  to- 
day. Is  he  a  preacher?" 

"He  can  preach,"  said  Duke  slowly. 

"He  has  been  educated,"  said  the  girl,  as 
though  talking  to  herself.  "He  must  know  a 
lot  of  things." 

"Yes'm,  he  sure  does,"  nodded  Duke,  and 
might  have  added  that  the  Saint  would  have 
been  hanged  many  times  for  divulging  even  a 
part  of  what  he  knew. 

"I  wonder  if  I  could  talk  to  him,"  she  said 
quickly.  "Not  tonight — tomorrow — maybe." 

"Yes'm,  I  reckon  yuh  could.  We're  livin> 
where  Preacher  Bill  used  to  live." 

Luck  nodded.  "I  saw  you  there.  Preachei 
Bill  was  rny  friend.  What  is  his  name?"  She 
motioned  toward  the  Saint. 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Le  Saint." 

"Le  Saint,"  she  said  softly.  "I  thought  of 
him  that  way  when  I  saW  him  at  the  grave- 
yard. My  father  let  Preacher  Bill  teach  me 
things,  and  I  wonder — my  father  is  down  at 
Cactus  City  tonight." 

"YouVe  lived  here  a  long  time?"  asked 
Duke. 

"Two  years." 

"Mighty  long  time  to  live  here,"  observed 
Duke. 

Luck  nodded  slowly.  "A  long  time — yes. 
Nothing  but  heat  in  the  day  and  this—  She 
gave  a  weary  gesture  toward  the  street — "at 
night.  I  have  lived  in  the  North,  where  the 
mountains  are  big  and  cool;  where  there 
are  big  trees  and  rivers.  It  is  never  cool 
here.  At  times  it  is  a  dreary  cold — then 
the  heat." 

Duke  nodded  and  looked  up  at  the  moon, 
47 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

hanging  like  a  great  ball  only  a  short  distance 
above  the  hill.  Suddenly  an  altercation 
started  across  the  street  beyond  the  crowd 
around  the  Saint.  A  babble  of  voices,  a  curse, 
shrilled  in  a  woman's  voice — a  shot. 

Duke  turned  quickly  to  Luck,  but  she  had 
disappeared  in  the  crowd.  A  man  elbowed 
his  way  across  the  street,  laughing  as  he 
reached  the  door,  and  spoke  to  Loper. 

"Woman  fer  a  change,  Loper.  'Tejon 
Mary'  tried  to  knife  a  feller,  but  he  was  look- 
in'  fer  it  and  shot  her." 

"  'S  time  somebody  stopped  her,"  grunted 
Loper.  "She  was  loco.  Sleed  was  goin'  t' 
ship  her  out,  anyway." 

The  crowd  around  the  shell  game  began  to 
scatter  and  look  for  another  diversion.  Duke 
went  out  to  the  Saint,  whose  pockets  were 
bulging  with  money." 

"Game  is  closed,"  said  the  Saint,  putting  the 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

shells  in  his  pocket  and  picking  up  the  table, 
"and  again  we  have  a  stake." 

He  placed  the  table  in  the  alleyway  between 
the  Silver  Bar  and  the  adjoining  building. 

"I  was  surprised  not  to  have  Silver  Sleed 
try  to  stop  my  game,"  said  the  Saint,  as  he 
joined  Duke. 

"He's  in  Cactus  City  tonight,  Saint.  I  had 
a  talk  with  his  daughter." 

"Sleed's  Luck?" 

"Yeah." 

"Son,  it  is  none  of  my  business—  '  began 
the  Saint,  but  Duke  stopped  him,  and  the 
Saint  listened  closely  while  Duke  told  him 
what  the  girl  had  said. 

He  shook  his  white  beard  slowly  when 
Duke  finished. 

"I  reckon,"  said  Duke  slowly,  "I  reckon 
you've  just  about  got  to  start  in  where 
Preacher  Bill  left  off." 

49 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Tomorrow,"  mused  the  Saint.  Tonight  I 
would  refuse  to  consider  it;  tomorrow  is  an- 
other day.  A  man  is  a  fool  to  declare  his  in- 
tentions more  than  one  minute  into  the  future. 
Let  us  procure  food,  Duke  Steele,  after  that 
we  will  sleep.  It  has  been  a  long  day." 

From  within  the  saloon  came  the  squeak  of 
a  fiddle,  the  tinpanny  rattle  of  a  piano,  the 
scrape  of  boots.  The  dance  had  begun.  Sev- 
eral men  were  going  down  the  street,  carrying 
a  blanketed  figure  which  had  been  Tejon 
Mary— who  was  loco.  From  far  out  in  the 
barren  hills  a  coyote  yapped  dismally. 

Sleed  came  back  from  Cactus  City  the 
next  day;  came  back  like  a  sore-headed 
grizzly  looking  for  trouble.  He  had  drunk 
heavily,  played  poker  all  night,  and  the 
heat  of  the  day  had  ground  his  temper  to 
a  razor  edge. 

Men  kept  away  from  Silver  Sleed  when  he 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

was  in  this  humor,  but  he  soon  heard  of  the 
shell  game,  which  had  held  the  attention  of 
the  crowd  the  night  before,  and  his  face  pur- 
pled with  rage.  He  cursed  everyone  in  sight 
and  sent  for  Loper,  who  was  almost  as  sore- 
headed  as  his  master. 

Sleed  took  him  to  the  rear  of  the  room,  sat 
him  down  at  a  table  and  demanded  an  explan- 
ation. 

"How  could  I  stop  him?"  demanded  Loper. 
"I  ain't  Sleed.  The  crowd  liked  his  game, 
'cause  he  told  'em  all  that  it  can't  be  beat." 

"How  much  did  he  win?"  growled  Sleed. 

"I  dunno.  Prob'ly  about  two  hundred 
dollars.  Tejon  Mary  got  shot,  and  that  kinda 
busted  up  the  crowd." 

Sleed  leaned  back  and  licked  the  edge  of  a 
frayed  cigar,  while  he  waited  for  Loper  to 
explain  more. 

"I  seen  Luck  talkin'  to  the  other  fellow." 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

Sleed  snapped  the  cigar  aside  and  leaned 
across  the  table. 

"Luck  was  talkin'  to  this  old  man's  pard- 
ner?" 

"Yeah." 

"What  about?" 

"I  dunno  all  they  talked  about,  Sleed.  I 
didn't  want  to  move  in  too  close,  but  I  know 
she  was  askin'  him  about  the  old  man." 

"About  the  old  man,"  parroted  Sleed. 
"What  did  she  want  to  know  about  him?" 

"I  dunno." 

"You  dunno,"  mimicked  Sleed.  Is  there 
any  thin'  you  do  know?  Wasn't  your  ears 
workin'?" 

"I  told  yuh  I  didn't  want  to  move  in  close, 
Sleed.  I  heard  some  of  it  and -" 

"Oh,  you  heard  some  of  it,  did  yuh?"  Sleed 
got  ponderously  to  his  feet  and  leaned  both 
hands  on  the  table,  as  he  snarled  down  at 

52 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

Loper.  "You  heard  some  of  it,  but  you  don't 
know  what  they  talked  about." 

Loper  licked  his  lips  and  wished  that  the 
interview  was  over. 

"Luck  asked  him  what  the  old  man's  name 
was  and " 

"What  was  it?"  snapped  Sleed. 

"Le  Saint." 

Silver  Sleed  stared  down  at  Loper;  stared 
curiously,  vacantly.  He  lifted  one  hand  and 
brushed  it  across  his  lips,  while  his  fixed  gaze 
seemed  to  look  through  Loper  and  beyond. 
Loper  shifted  nervously,  but  Sleed  continued 
to  stare. 

Suddenly  he  jerked,  like  a  man  awaking 
from  sleep,  and  sat  down  slowly  in  a  chair. 

"Le  Saint,"  he  muttered  softly. 

"Funny  first  name,"  said  Loper  slowly. 
"Paget,  I  think  he  called  it.  Must  be  a  fur- 


riner." 


53 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

Silver  Sleed  did  not  seem  to  hear  him. 

"I  dunno  what  the  other  feller's  name  is, 
but  he  sure  looks  like  he  could  take  care  of 
himself.  Packs  a  gun  that  looks  like  it  had 
been  used  a-plenty;  and  he's  got  the  walk  of 
a  cat.  The  old  man's  gun  ain't  no  ornyment 
either.  Mebbe  he's  a  preacher — I  dunno." 

Sleed  continued  to  stare  at  the  table-top. 

"Want  me  to  pack  a  talk  to  him?"  asked 
Loper.  "I  can  tell  him  to  put  out  of  here,  or 
that  he  can't  run  no  game  in  Calico." 

"No."  Sleed  shook  his  head  slowly  and 
leaned  closer  to  Loper.  "Do  yuh  know  any- 
thin'  about  that  shell  game?" 

"Only  that  it  can't  be  beat." 

"Of  course  it  can't,"  admitted  Sleed 
hoarsely.  "That  pea  ain't  under  either  shell. 
Suppose  that  you  bet  a  lot  of  money  on  the  pea 
bein'  under  one  of  them  shells,  and  it  wasn't 
there,  and  yuh  grabbed  the  other  one  and 

54 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

found  it  empty?"  Sleed  grinned  wolfishly. 
"What  would  yuh  do,  Loper?" 

"That's  it,  eh?"  grunted  Loper.  "I  reckon 
I'd  take  my  money  back." 

"Which  might  start  trouble." 

"Thasall-  right,"  grunted  Loper.  "I'd  be 
lookin'  for  trouble." 

Sleed  got  to  his  feet  and  jerked  his  head  to- 
ward the  bar,  as  an  invitation  to  have  a  drink. 

"Let  this  man  set  up  his  game  tonight,  if  he 
wants  to.  I  reckon  you  know  what  to  do, 
Loper."  • 

Lopef  nodded.  "Uh-huh.  But  have  some- 
body watchin'  this  other  feller,  Sleed;  he's 
dangerous,  y'betcha." 

"Some  of  the  boys  will  take  care  of  him. 
Maybe  I'll  watch  him  myself." 

Sleed  spilled  his  liquor  in  the  pouring,  but 
filled  his  glass  to  the  brim,  while  Loper  won- 
dered what  had  happened  to  Sleed's  iron 

•  55 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

nerve.  -  He  wondered  if  his  boss  were  losing 
his  nerve,  or  if  it  were  only  the  effects  of  too 
much  liquor  and  loss  of  sleep. 

"Got  any  more  orders  for  today?"  asked 
Loper. 

Sleed  shook  his  head,  splashing  the  liquor 
from  his  glass  into  his  beard.  Then  he  tossed 
the  half-empty  glass  over  the  bar  and  walked 
out  of  the  door. 

"Guess  that  whisky  don't  set  well  on  his 
stummick  today,"  observed  the  bartender, 
kicking  the  broken  glass  aside. 

"Somethin'  don't,"  admitted  Loper  seri- 
ously. 

"He's  drinkin'  too  much,  I  reckon." 

"You  better  mention  it  to  him,"  grinned 
Loper.  "He's  in  good  shape  for  a  temp'rance 
lecture  right  now." 

"  }F  he  ever  gets  snakes 

"It'll  be  hell  on  the  snakes,"  finished  Loper. 

56 


,v 

ff"ONG  strings  of  mules,  driven  with  a  jerk- 
•*— '  line,  and  hauling  heavy,  clumsy  ore  wag- 
ons, drifted  out  of  Sunshine  Alley,  hauling 
great  loads  of  silver  ore  to  the  mills  at  Cactus 
City,  fifteen  miles  away.  It  was  a  hard 
journey  across  the  desert  to  Cactus  City,  but 
water  was  necessary  for  the  handling  of  the  ore 
— and  Calico  had  none.  Many  of  the  wagons 
brought  back  great  casks  of  water  to  supply 
Calico.  There  was  no  ice.  The  cool  of  the 
evening  lowered  the  temperature  of  the  water 
a  trifle,  but  a  cold  drink  was  unknown  in 
Calico  town  in  summer. 

Duke  Steele  and  the  Saint  had  stocked  their 
larder  from  one  of  the  stores  and  had  secured 
several  badly-needed  blankets.  A  passing 

57 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

wagon  had  sold  them  a  small  cask  of  water  at 
a  large  price,  but  they  were  willing  to  pay. 
The  burro  had 'joined  forces  with  several  more 
of  its  kind,  which  were  trying  to  eke  out  a 
living  in  the  Alley  by  devouring  anything  and 
everything  from  an  old  newspaper  to  a  much- 
boiled  bone.  At  times,  as  though  by  signal, 
they  would  all  bray  together,  their  raucous 
voices  echoing  brazenly  from  the  cliffs. 

Mica  Gates  came  down  the  road  and 
stopped  at  sight  of  Duke  and  the  Saint. 

"They  took  Ault  and  Tejon  Mary  to  Cactus 
City,"  he  announced.  "Ault  had  some  friends 
in  Cactus,  and  Sleed  didn't  want  Mary  buried 
here."  Cates  laughed  and  added,  "Mebbe 
Sleed  was  afraid  Mary's  ghost  might  not  be 
welcome  among  so  many  good  ones." 

"Is  Cactus  City  any  better  than  Calico?" 
asked  Duke. 

"Better  morals,"  nodded  Mica.  "They 
58 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

don't  have  a  killin'  down  there  more'n  once  a 
week.  You  stay  here  and  you'll  find  a-plenty 
of  funerals  to  work  on.  Ain't  no  money  in  it 
as  far  as  I  can  see,  but  Preacher  Bill  had  a 
system.  He  orated  at  funerals  fer  nothin' 
quite  a  while,  and  one  day  he  whittled  out  a 
cross  and  fastened  it  to  a  headstone.  She 
looked  kinda  pious.  A  gambler,  who  was 
religious  as  hell,  saw  him  put  up  this  here 
cross,  so  the  gambler  takes  up  a  collection  fer 
old  Bill.  I  reckon  he  got  a  hundred  dollars 
fer  him,  and  after  that  old  Bill  packs  a  cross 
with  him  all  the  time  and  hopes  for  a  killinV 

Gates  grinned  and  went  on  up  the  road.  He 
was  like  a  daily  paper  to  Calico,  and  spent 
most  of  his  time  retailing  news,  picking  up 
new  items  at  each  stop  and  telling  hearsay  as 
personal  experience. 

Duke  Steele  turned  from  watching  Gates 
and  saw  Luck  coming  slowly  down  the  trail 

59 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

toward  their  adobe.  The  Saint  glanced  up 
at  the  girl  and  back  at  Duke,  who  was  smil- 
ing at  her.  She  came  shyly  up  to  them  and 
Duke  introduced  her  to  the  Saint.  She  was 
even  prettier  in  the  harsh  light  of  day  than  in 
the  dim  lights  of  the  night  before. 

"I — I  wanted  to  talk  to  you,"  she  faltered, 
looking  at  the  Saint.  She  traced  a  pattern 
with  her  toe  in  the  sand  and  seemed  undecided 
just  what  else  to  say. 

"I  think  I  understand,"  nodded  the  Saint. 
"You  want  to  learn  and  you  think  I  am  cap- 
able of  teaching  you.  Is  that  it?" 

"Yes,"  eagerly.  "Preacher  Bill  taught  me 
—some.  But  he's  gone  now — and  I — I  won- 
dered. He  wasn't  a  good  man  like  you,  but 
he  wanted  to  help  me.  You  see,  I  have  never 
been  to  a  regular  school." 

The  Saint  turned  his  head  slowly  and  looked 
at  Duke  Steele.  Somehow  it  did  not  seem 

60 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

funny  to  them.  The  Saint  turned  back  to  her 
and  said,  "And  why  do  you  think  I  am  better 
than  Preacher  Bill?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  admitted  softly,  "I  don't 
know  how  I  know  you  are — but  I  do. 
Preacher  Bill  had  a  Bible,  with  pictures  in  it, 
and  you  look  like  one  of  them.  Preacher 
Bill  said  it  was  the  picture  of  a  saint." 

The  Saint  lifted  his  head  and  stared  up 
the  Alley,  shutting  his  eyes  against  the 
glare  of  the  reflected  light,  while  the  girl 
watched  him  eagerly.  He  turned  and  looked 
at  her. 

"Why  don't  your  father  send  you  where 
there  are  schools?  He  can  afford  it." 

Luck  shook  her  head. 

"Preacher  Bill  wanted  him  to  send  me 
away,  but  he  only  laughs  and  says  he  can't 
afford  to  lose  his  luck.  He  says  I  bring  him 
luck.  I  guess  he  believes  this.  He  talks 

61 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

about  it  so  much  that  nobody  ever  calls  me 
Nola  any  more." 

"Where  is  your  mother,  child?"  asked  the 
Saint. 

Luck  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  know.  Dad  never  talks  about  her, 
and  when  I  ask  him  he  gets  angry.  I  don't 
remember  her.  I  remember  that  we  lived  in 
the  North,  where  it  gets  cold,  and  where  there 
are  big  mountains.  Since  then  we  have  trav- 
eled all  over  the  country — Dad  and  I." 

"You  ain't  had  much  of  life,  that's  a  cinch,n 
muttered  Duke.  "Feller  hadn't  ought  to 
drag  a  girl  over  the  country  like  that.  Bad 
enough  for  a  boy." 

Luck  shut  her  lips  tightly  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  "I  guess  I  can  stand  it.  Dad  says  he  is 
going  to  get  me  some  books.  Ace  Ault  wanted 
to  get  me  some,  but  Dad  put  a  damper  on  that 
idea.  Dad  didn't  like  Ace." 

62 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Perhaps  your  dad  won't  like  me,"  sug- 
gested the  Saint. 

"Well—"  Luck  hesitated  a  moment,  "I'll 
tell  him  about  you,  and — will  you  teach  me,  if 
he  don't  mind?" 

The  Saint  looked  quizzically  at  her,  and 
his  eyes  shifted  to  a  far-away  look,  as  though 
he  were  undecided.  Then  he  nodded. 

"Yes,  child— if  he  don't  mind." 

Luck  turned  quickly  and  ran  up  the  trail, 
as  though  she  was  going  to  lose  no  time  in 
finding  out.  Duke  smiled  after  her  and  looked 
at  the  Saint,  who  was  staring  down  at  the 
ground,  his  hands  clenched  at  his  sides.  The 
face  of  a  saint  was  gone  now,  and  in  its  stead 
was  the  grinning  snarl  of  an  old  wolf.  He 
lifted  his  face  and  looked  at  Duke  Steele,  who 
was  staring  at  the  change  in  the  old  man's 
face  and  manner. 

"Duke  Steele — "  the  Saint's  voice  was  thin, 
63 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

almost  a  whine — "I've  lived  to  kill — kill,  do 
you  hear  me?  Now,  I've  promised — God, 
why  did  I ?" 

He  swung  his  head  as  though  in  pain,  and 
walked  away.  Duke  watched  him  going 
slowly  down  the  road,  his  shoulders  hunched, 
as  though  the  weight  of  the  world  rested  on 
his  back. 

Whom  did  he  live  to  kill?  Why  did 
his  promise  to  Luck  change  his  whole  be- 
ing? Duke  frowned  and  tried  to  gather 
some  reason  for  the  old  man's  feelings,  but 
in  vain.  The  Saint  left  the  road  and  climbed 
the  hill  to  a  pinnacle  of  rack,  where  he 
sat  and  stared  down  the  canyon,  chin  in 
hands,  like  a  great,  white-headed  eagle  watch- 
ing for  its  prey. 

It  was  an  hour  later  that  the  Saint  came 
back.  He  seemed  older,  whiter  and  very 
tired.  Duke  made  no  mention  of  what  had 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

passed  between  them,  and  the  Saint  did  not 
open  the  subject.  He  sat  down  in  the  door- 
way and  examined  his  revolver — an  old  single- 
action  Colt  .45,  scarred  and  polished  from 
much  usage.  His  long,  lean  fingers  seemed 
to  caress  the  old  gun  lovingly.  There  were 
no  notches  on  the  butt  of  this  old  gun,  but 
Duke  Steele  knew  that  its  muzzle  had  spouted 
death  many  times. 

Suddenly  Duke  spoke. 

"Saint,  what  made  you  old  before  your 
time?" 

"Old?  Before— my— time?"  The  Saint 
turned  his  head  and  looked  at  Duke. 

"Uh-huh;  You  ain't  over  fifty,  are  yuh? 
You  ain't  got  no  right  to  wear  long  white  hair 
and  whiskers  and  make  folks  think  you're  as 
old  as  the  hills." , 

The  Saint  ran  his  hand  under  his  beard 
and  lifted  it  in  range  of  his  eyes.  For  several 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

moments  he  peered  at  it,  as  though  he  had 
never  seen  it  before. 

"Duke,  what  would  I  look  like  without  this 
beard?" 

"I  ain't  got  the  slightest  idea,  Saint.  It 
sure  does  cover  your  face  and  head." 

"And  that,"  said  Saint  slowly,  "is  your  an- 

* 

swer,  son." 


66 


VI 

FUCK  found  her  father  at  home  asleep,  but 
~*  her  news  was  of  such  importance  that  she 
awoke  him.  He  snarled  an  answer  to  her  call 
before  he  realized  who  had  called  him. 

"I've  got  a  new  teacher,"  she  announced, 
when  she  had  recovered  from  the  effects  of 
his  snarling  answer. 

"Teacher,  eh?    Who?" 

"The  old  man,  with  the  white  beard — Le 
Saint." 

"Le — "  Sleed  sat  up  on  the  bed  and  stared 
at  her. 

Luck  nodded.  "Le  Saint.  He  looks  like 
one  of  the  old  men  in  the  Bible.  He  is  going 
to  teach  men,  if  you  will  let  him." 

Sleed  stared  down  at  the  floor,  with  unseeing 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

eyes,  while  Luck's  words  seemed  to  run  in  a 

meaningless  jumble  through  his  mind. 

i 

"We  need  a  preacher  here,"  said  Luck 
softly,  "and  he  is  very  good  and  kind.  Will 
you  let  him  teach  me,  Daddy?" 

Sleed  roused  from  his  stupor  and  got  heavily 
to  his  feet. 

"Don't  you  feel  good?"  asked  Luck.  "Your 
face  is  so  white  and  your  eyes " 

"No,  I'm  all  right!"  grunted  Sleed  thickly. 
"I — I  lost  a  lot  of  sleep,  and  this  blasted 
heat—  He  wiped  his  brow  with  the  sleeve 
of  his  shirt. 

"Are  we  going  to  live  here  always?"  asked 
Luck. 

"Always?"  Sleed  tried  to  smile.  "Always 
is  a  long  time,  Luck." 

Sleed  picked  up  his  hat  and  started  for  the 
door,  but  Luck  took  him  by  the  arm. 

"You  did  not  say  about  my  teacher." 
68 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

Sleed  did  not  look  at  her  as  he  said,  "When 
is  he  goin'  to  start  teaching  Luck?" 

"Tomorrow,"  eagerly. 

"Oh,  tomorrow.  I  reckon  that'll  be  all 
right — tomorrow." 

Sleed  went  out  of  the  door  and  Luck 
watched  him  go  down  the  rocky  trail  to  the 
street,  but  he  did  not  turn  and  wave  at  her  as 
he  usually  did. 

Suddenly  he  stopped,  turned  and  came 
slowly  back  up  the  trail  to  the  doorway. 

"Luck,  I  wish  you'd  stay  off  the  street  to- 
night," he  said. 

"Why?"  she  asked.  It  was  the  first  time 
he  had  ever  requested  her  to  keep  away  from 
the  street. 

"I'm  afraid  yuh  might  get  hurt.  There's  a 
bunch  comin7  up  from  Cactus  City  tonight, 
and  they  might  get  rough.  I  can't  afford  to 
have  anything  happen  to  my  Luck." 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"They  all  know  me,"  said  Luck  quickly. 
"Nothing  will  harm  me." 

Sleed  shook  his  head. 

"I — I  dunno  about  that,  Luck.  If  trouble 
started,  nobody  knows  where  bullets  will 
hit." 

Luck  brushed  the  hair  away  from  her  eyes 
and  glanced  down  toward  the  quiet  street. 

"Everybody  says  that  you  own  Calico,  Dad. 
If  you  do,  why  don't  you  stop  the  trouble? 
Does  there  have  to  be  somebody  killed  every 
day?  Isn't  there  some  way  to  stop  men  from 
fighting  and  killing  each  other?" 

Silver  Sleed  shook  his  head. 

"No,  I  don't  reckon  there  is,  not  now.  May- 
be some  day  the  wolf  blood  will  thin  out,  I 
dunno." 

And  without  gaining  Luck's  promise  to 
keep  off  the  street  that  night,  Sleed  turned 
and  went  back  down  the  trail.  Luck  watched 

70 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

him  disappear  and  turned  to  see  Mica  Gates 
coming  down  past  the  house,  on  his  way  from 
the  Ruby  Hill  trail. 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  mopped  his  brow. 

"Howdy,  Miss  Luck.  Hot,  ain't  it?  I 
been  circ'latin'  around  quite  a  bit.  Wes 
Marks  jist  run  into  a  two-inch  vein  of  durned- 
near  pure  silver.  Could  almost  mint  dollars 
out  of  the  raw  stuff.  Two  miners  from  the 
Nola  had  a  devil  of  a  fight  and  one's  got  a 
busted  head. 

"Didja  notice  how  many  buzzards  has  been 
floatin'  around  t'day?  Been  a  whole  flock  of 
'em  circlin'  Calico  fer  two  hours.  That  old 
white-bearded  hombre  was  settin'.  on  a  rock 
fer  a  long  time,  like  he  was  thinkin'  a  heap, 
and  then  I  seen  him  oilin'  his  six-gun.  Mebbe 
he's  a  preacher;  I  dunno." 

Mica  Gates  stopped  for  breath  and  glanced 
up  at  the  sky,  where  a  flock  of  buzzards  circled 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

slowly,    and    without    visible    effort.     Gates 
lowered  his  eyes  and  glanced  at  Luck. 

"  JS  hard  to  fool  a  buzzard,"  he  said,  and 
went  on  down  the  trail.  He  had  fulfilled  his 
duty  and  added  a  prophecy  to  boot. 

Luck's  eyes  followed  the  buzz'ards  for  a 
while,  as  they  circled  slowly  on  an  even  plane, 
as"  though  suspended  by  invisible  wires,  and 
went  back  into  the  house.  There  was  some- 
thing ominous  in  the  atmosphere,  and  Luck 
had  not  given  her  word  to  keep  off  the  street. 

Loper  had  passed  the  word  to  Bill  Fane 
and  "Pecos"  Mendez  as  to  what  Silver  Sleed 
expected,  and  the  three  of  them  met  'in  the 
Silver  Bar  saloon.  Fane  was  a  tall,  cadaver- 
ous person,  with  a  crooked  mouth,  which  gave 
him  a  perpetual  leer.  Mendez  was  a  half- 
breed,  whose  mentality  was  hardly  up  to  par, 
but  whose  pistol  ability  and  cold-blooded 
nerve  were  seldom  equaled. 

72 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"We  tak'  care  of  de  yong  man,  eh?"  quer- 
ied Mendez,  his  voice  like  the  purring  of  a 
cat.  "Dat  be  easy,  eh,  Beel?" 

Fane  nodded  absently. 

"No  killin'  is  easy,"  objected  Loper.  "This 
young  man  packs  a  gun  like  he  knowed  how 
to  use  it,  and  he's  got  a  face  that  backs  up  the 
looks  of  his  gun.  You  two  better  figure  that 
this  ain't  goin'  t'  be  no  picnic." 

"What  does  Sleed  want  'em  killed  fer?" 
asked  Fane. 

"  'Cause  he  don't  'low  nobody  to  cut  in  on 
his  gamblin'  in  Calico,"  replied  Loper. 

"He  ain't  never  told  'em  they  can't  run  a 
game  here,  has  he?" 

"That's  none  of  your  business — nor  mine," 
said  Loper.  "Silver  Sleed  pays  yuh,  don't 
he?" 

"Yeah,"  admitted  Fane  slowly,  "he  pays. 
But  I'm  gittin'  tired  of  bein'  hired  to  shoot 

73 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

folks.  I  ain't  no  danged  milk  eater,  Loper, 
but  I  believe  in  lettin'  a  man  have  a  even 
break." 

"You  better  not  let  Sleed  hear  yuh  talk 
thataway,"  cautioned  Loper.  "He  ain't  got 
no  use  for  that  kind  of  arguments." 

Fane  grinned  crookedly  and  put  his  hand 
on  Loper's  arm. 

"Loper,  who  are  we  to  let  Silver  Sleed  hire 
us  to  do  his  dirty  work?  Why  are  we  afraid 
of  him?  What  did  he  ever  do  to  make  us 
afraid  of  him?  Either  one  of  us  could  bump 
him  off  with  a  gun.  Are  we  afraid  of  his 
damn  money? 

"I  got  to  lookin'  him  over  today  and  won- 
derin'  why  we're  afraid  to  speak  out  loud 
about  him.  You  tell  me  not  to  let  him  hear 
me  talk  thataway.  Why  should  I  be  any  more 
afraid  to  let  him  hear  it  than  you  and  Men- 
dez?" 

74 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

Loper  drew  away  from  Fane,  but  the  ques- 
tion had  found  root  in  his  brain. 

"Money,"  said  Mendez,  "Just  money.  I 
jus'  so  good  as  Sleed,  but  Sleed  has  de  money. 
Man  got  to  live." 

"I  reckon  that's  it,"  nodded  Loper.  "I 
never  thought  much  about  it  before,  Bill.  I 
reckon  any  of  us  could  more  than  hold  his  own 
against  Sleed  in  a  gun-fight,  but  he's  got  the 
money.  Anyway,  I  told  him  we'd  take  care 
of  this  for  him." 

The  three  of  them  strolled  to  the  doorway. 
Far  out  on  the  desert  was  a  strip  of  gold, 
marking  the  last  of  the  sunset,  but  Calico  was 
already  hazy  with  the  evening  light.  The 
Saint  and  Duke  Steele  came  out  of  the  Alley 
and  into  the  street,  walking  slowly  toward  the 
Silver  Bar  saloon. 

"Them  is  the  ones,"  grunted  Loper.  "I 
dunno  what  Sleed  wants  done  in  case  they 
don't  open  that  game." 

75 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"He's  doin'  this  'cause  he  wants  to  stop  'em 
from  gamblin',  ain't  he?"  queried  Fane. 
Loper  nodded. 

Mica  Gates  came  thumping  down  the  street 
and  up  to  the  saloon  door,  where  he  turned 
and  looked  up  at  the  sky.  He  shaded  his  eyes 
for  a  moment  and  turned  to  the  three  men. 

"Did  yuh  notice  how  the  buzzards  been 
hangin'  around  here  all  day?" 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  us?"  grunted 
Loper. 

"I  dunno,"  admitted  Gates.  "I  never  said 
who  it  concerned.  They've  circled  Calico  all 
day,  and  sometimes  they  come  down  awful 
low,  with  their  wattled  heads  turnin'  from 
side  to  side — kinda  lookin'."  Gates  shook  his 
head  and  started  into  the  saloon,  but  stopped 
and  glanced  at  the  sky  again. 

"  'S  hard  to  fool  a  buzzard,  y'betcha." 

"Croakin'  old  pup,"  growled  Loper,  and 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

the  three  of  them  went  back  into  the  saloon. 

The  Saint  secured  his  little  table  again  and 
set  it  up  in  the  street.  Several  dogs  went  out 
and  investigated,  and  started  a  fight,  as  though 
there  was  a  serious  difference  of  opinion  over 
the  reasons  for  a  table  in  the  street. 

Duke  Steele  watched  the  Saint  with  mis- 
givings. He  was  sure  that  Silver  Sleed  would 
object  strenuously  to  such  a  proceeding,  but 
the  Saint  gave  no  heed  to  his  warnings.  For 
the  last  hour  the  Saint  had  seemed  another 
person;  entirely  different  from  the  philoso- 
phical old  man.  His  mop  of  white  hair  seemed 
to  lift  aggressively,  and  the  hawk-like  nose 
seemed  more  like  an  eagle's  beak. 

He  had  put  his  extra  cartridges  in  his  pocket 
and  shoved  his  six-shooter  inside  the  waist- 
band of  his  pants,  where  he  could  get  it  with- 
out reaching  under  his  coat.  Duke  had  noted 
these  preparations  silently,  but  had  looked  to 

77 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

his  own  gun  and  ammunition.  He  was  will- 
ing to  follow  the  Saint's  lead  and  he  wanted 
to  be  prepared  for  anything. 

Duke  went  into  the  saloon  and  sat  down  at 
a  poker  table,  where  Sleed  was  dealing  a  game 
of  stud.  Sleed  studied  Duke  from  under  the 
brim  of  his  hat,  as  he  slid  a  stack  of  chips 
across  the  table  to  him. 

"The  limit?"  queried  Duke. 

"The  sky,"  replied  Sleed. 

The  Saint  had  split  his  winnings  with  Duke, 
and  now  Duke  shoved  the  rest  of  the  bills 
over  to  Sleed,  taking  chips  in  exchange.  It 
was  a  small  betting  game,  and  the  pots  were 
uninteresting.  Sleed  covered  a  yawn  with 
his  hand,  and  Duke  nodded,  as  though  at  a 
spoken  word. 

Duke  smiled  grimly  as  Sleed  dealt  the 
first  card  to  each  man.  He  shoved  in  part 
of  a  stack  of  chips,  and  Sleed  covered  the  bet, 

78 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

wondering  why  Duke  made  such  a  bet  on  a 
hole-card.  The  two  miners  passed,  leaving 
Sleed  and  Duke  to  fight  it  out.  Duke  drew 
a  king  and  Sleed  a  jack. 

"King-high  bets,"  intoned  Sleed. 

Duke  shoved  in  all  of  his  chips.  Sleed 
glanced  sharply  at  him,  but  covered  the  bet, 
and  dealt  the  rest  of  the  hand.  The  result 
showed  a  pair  of  kings  for  Duke  and  a  pair  of 
jacks  for  Sleed. 

The  next  deal  doubled  Duke's  money  again, 
and  he  bet  half  of  it  on  his  hole-card.  Again 
he  won.  Sleed  shifted  nervously  in  his  chair, 
while  miners  crowded  in  around  to  watch  the 
play.  Sleed  knew  that  there  was  no  chance 
for  a  crooked  play,  and  he  trusted  to  luck  to 
win. 

Pot  after  pot  went  to  Duke  Steele,  doubling 
his  money  on  each  hand,  until  the  onlookers 
gasped  at  the  wonderful  run  of  luck.  Duke 

79 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

was  plunging;  betting  a  fortune  on  his  first 
card.  And  Sleed's  prestige  in  the  town  de- 
manded that  he  follow  suit,  although  it  broke 
him. 

Sleed  called  for  another  rack  of  chips,  new 
cards,  whiskey,  praying  that  something  would 
happen  to  break  the  devilish  luck  of  this  hard- 
eyed  gambler. 

Another  deal,  and  Duke  bet  two  thousand 
dollars  on  his  first  card.  Sleed  glanced  at  the 
bet  and  doubled  the  size  of  it. 

"Feel  it  comin'  on?"  queried  Duke.  It  was 
the  first  word  Duke  had  spoken  since  he  had 
inquired  about  the  limit. 

Sleed's  eyes  narrowed  at  the  question,  but 
he  did  not  reply.  Duke  shoved  in  the  extra 
two  thousand,  and  with  it  went  every  chip  in 
fp>nt  of  him.  Stacks  of  blue  and  red,  at  five 
and  ten  dollars  for  each  chip — a  king's  ran- 
som. Sleed  licked  his  lips  and  studied  the  pot. 

so 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Your  luck  or  mine,"  said  Duke  softly. 
"You're  rich,  Sleed,  but  are  yuh  game?  It's 
a  man-sized  pot." 

From  out  on  the  street  came  the  voice  of  the 
Saint: 

"It  can't  be  beat,  folks.  The  more  you  lay 
down,  the  less  you  pick  up.  The  hand  is 
quicker  than  the  eye,  and  this  game  was  de- 
signed to  prove  it  to  you.  Don't  bet,  .unless 
you  want  to  lose." 

Duke  watched  Sleed  closely,  as  he  stared 
down  at  the  pot. 

"It's  luck  that  wins,  Sleed;  and  you're  losin' 
your  luck." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  snapped  Sleed,  sit- 
ting up  straight  in  his  chair.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

"She's  leavin'  you,  Sleed.  You  know  it, 
too.  Shove  in  your  money  and  prove  it  with 
the  cards.  It's  luck  now.  I'll  show  you  my 
card." 

81 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

Duke  flipped  his  hole-card,  disclosing  a 
deuce  of  hearts. 

"The  little  thin  card,  Sleed.  Your  card 
must  be  as  good  as  mine;  but  my  luck — my 
medicine — is  stronger  than  yours.  Your  luck 
has  left  you." 

"Like  hell  it  has!"  croaked  Sleed,  and 
turned  his  card,  the  ace  of  spades,  face  up  on 
the  table.  Nervously  he  shoved  in  chips,  call- 
ing for  another  rack  to  match  Duke's  bet. 

"Deal  'em  face-up,"  said  Duke  softly. 
"Give  the  crowd  a  little  entertainment,  Sleed." 

"Another  empty  shell,"  came  the  Saint's 
voice.  "This  is  not  a  luck  game,  folks;  it  is  a 
cinch  for  the  dealer." 

Sleed's  hand  shook  as  he  started  to  deal. 
Duke  got  an  ace,  while  Sleed's  card  showed 
the  five  of  hearts.  Slowly  the  next  two  fell  to 
the  table;  a  five  of  clubs  to  Duke  and  the 
deuce  of  diamonds  to  Sleed. 

82' 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Ace,  five,  deuce,"  said  Duke  softly.  "Luck 
is  laughing  at  you,  Sleed." 

Sleed  tossed  the  next  two,  and  the  crowd 
gasped.  Each  man  drew  a  king. 

"Matched  cards,"  said  Duke,  laughing 
softly.  "One  more  card,  Sleed,  one  more. 
This  one  proves  that  luck  has  left  you." 

Slowly  Sleed  moved  the  top  card  and 
tossed  it  across  at  Duke.  It  was  the  deuce 
of  clubs,  making  a  pair  of  deuces  for  Duke 
Steele.  An  ace,  king,  or  a  five  would  win  for 
Sleed. 

"Friend,  you  are  out  of  luck."  The  Saint's 
voice  seemed  to  be  directed  at  Silver  Sleed. 
"I  told  you  that  this  game  cannot  be  beat,  but 
you 

Sleed  spun  his  card  in  the  air  and  it  fell 
face-up  on  the  pile  of  chips. 

The  trey  of  spades ! 

Staring   down    at    the    card,    Sleed    half- 

83 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

slumped  forward  in  his  chair,  as  he  tried  to 
estimate  his  loss.  It  was  more  money  than  he 
dared  estimate.  He  looked  up  at  Duke,  who 
was  rolling  a  cigarette. 

"Count  the  chips,  Sleed,"  said  Duke,  "and 
give  me  your  I.  O.  U.  for  it.  I'll  take  your 
count." 

Duke  got  to  his  feet  and  brushed  the  crumbs 
of  tobacco  off  the  folds  of  his  shirt,  while 
Sleed  stared  up  at  him.  His  I.  O.  U. !  Sleed's 
eyes  shifted  and  he  saw  Loper  looking  at  him 
inquiringly.  Swiftly  Sleed  counted  the  chips, 
stacking  them  in  rows  across  the  table. 

"Forty-six  thousand  dollars,"  he  said 
hoarsely. 

"Write  it  out,"  said  Duke  indifferently. 

Sleed  got  to  his  feet  and  walked  to  the  bar, 
where  he  secured  writing  material.  Labori- 
ously he  wrote  out  the  I.  O.  U.  and  scrawled 
his  signature  at  the  bottom.  Without  looking 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

at  it,  Duke  pocketed  it  and  went  out  of  the 
door. 

Loper  and  Fane  had  moved  in  close  to  the 
bar,  and  as  Duke  went  out  of  the  door,  Sleed 
nodded  to  Loper  and  indicated  for  him  to  go 
ahead.  Men  were  talking  softly  about  the 
big  game,  the  size  of  Sleed's  loss,  the  cold 
nerve  of  this  stranger.  A  rumble  of  it  came 
to  Sleed's  ears  and  he  grinned  behind  his 
beard.  He  was  sure  that  he  would  never  have 
to  pay  that  I.  O.  U. 

Voices  came  from  the  street  arguing,  laugh- 
ing, quarreling.  Sleed  had  turned  away,  as 
though  to  go  toward  the  back  of  the  room,  but 
he  swung  around  and  walked  to  the  door, 
drawn  irresistibly  by  the  drama  he  knew  was 
about  to  be  played. 


VI 

'TpHE  Saint  was  standing  at  his  little  table, 
•*-  in  the  center  of  a  crowd,  advising  them 
not  to  play  his  game;  taking  their  money, 
when  they  insisted.  Duke  Steele  had  elbowed 
his  way  to  a  point  just  beyond  the  Saint,  and 
was  watching  the  crowd. 

Loper  shoved  men  aside  and  stepped  in 
front  of  the  table,  looking  curiously  down  at 
the  two  shells.  Duke  had  seen  Sleed  signal 
Loper  in  the  saloon,  and  he  knew  that  Loper 
was  the  one  who  had  killed  Ace  Ault.  Loper 
was  Sleed's  man,  and  this  was  their  first  move 
against  the  Saint. 

"Don't  waste  your  money,  friend,"  warned 
the  Saint,  as  Loper  took  out  some  gold.  "You 
can't  win." 

86 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Can,  if  I  pick  the  right  shell,  can't  I?" 

"That's  the  trick,  friend,  but  it  can't  be 
done." 

The  Saint  rolled  the  little  black  pea  on  the 
table,  covered  it  with  a  shell  and  shuffled  the 
shells  slowly. 

"Fifty  dollars,"  declared  Loper. 

"Pick  your  shell,"  said  the  Saint.  "Fifty  is 
a  lot  of  money  to  give  away." 

Loper  studied  the  shells  for  a  moment  and 
made  his  choice.  The  pea  was  not  there. 
With  a  swift  movement  of  his  hand  he  upset 
the  other  shell  and  found  it  empty. 

He  stepped  back  angrily. 

"That's  a  crooked  game!"  he  roared.  "You 
just  stole  my  money " 

Loper  drew  his  gun  as  he  rasped  out  his 
accusation,  which  was  never  finished.  The 
Saint's  hand  flashed  to  his  waist;  a  downward 
and  upward  movement,  so  fast  that  it  seemed 

87 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

to  be  one  short  snap,  and  his  pistol  spouted  fire 
a  second  before  Loper  shot. 

Loper  jerked  back  as  though  struck  by  a 
mighty  blow  and  his  bullet  sped  harmlessly 
over  the  Saint's  head.  For  an  instant  the 
crowd  was  silent.  Loper  had  half  caught  his 
balance,  but  it  was  only  an  instant  before  he 
fell  forward  on  his  face. 

Into  the  startled  crowd  came  Luck,  running 
swiftly  to  the  Saint. 

"Look  out,  Saint!"  yelled  Duke.  "It's  a 
trick  to  kill  you." 

Another  pistol  thudded  from  nearer  the 
saloon,  and  the  Saint  staggered  sideways  from 
the  shock  of  the  bullet.  It  was  Mendez  shoot- 
ing from  the  sidewalk.  Duke  sprang  into  a 
cleared  spot  and  fired  twice  at  Mendez,  who 
tried  to  run,  but  seemed  to  collapse  half-way 
in  the  saloon  door,  at  the  feet  of  Silver  Sleed. 

The  street  cleared  as  though  by  magic,  and 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

Duke  could,  see  the  Saint  on  his  hands  and 
knees  beside  his  little  table,  trying  to  pull  him- 
self up.  A  woman  screamed  and  a  man  cursed 
wonderingly  in  a  high-pitched  voice. 

As  Duke  started  for  the  Saint,  he  felt  a 
bullet  yank  at  his  shoulder,  and  the  crash  of  a 
gun  came  from  behind  him.  He  turned 
quickly  to  see  Bill  Fane  coming  toward  him. 
Fane  shot  again  before  Duke  realized  that 
here  was  another  opponent,  and  the  bullet 
seared  a  furrow  across  his  cheek. 

Duke's  hand  swung  up  and  he  fired  quickly. 
Fane  stumbled,  but  came  on,  trying  to  lift  his 
gun,  which  seemed  too  heavy.  Again  Duke 
fired — and  again.  Fane's  gun  fell  to  the 
ground.  He  seemed  to  be  looking  for  it, 
searching  carefully.  His  knees  bent  slowly 
and  he  sprawled  in  the  street. 

Duke  turned  around.  The  Saint  had  got 
to  his  feet  and  was  holding  to  the  table  with 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

both  hands.  Men  were  looking  out  of  the 
saloon  door,  standing  far  back  from  the  door- 
way, as  though  afraid  to  get  closer  to  the 
street. 

Loper  was  sprawled  on  his  face  just  in  front 
of  the  Saint,  and  had  not  moved.  Duke  went 
past  him  and  took  the  Saint  by  the  arm.  His 
white  hair  and  beard  were  covered  with 
blood,  and  his  eyes  were  closed  tightly. 

"Come  on,  Saint,"  said  Duke.  "Aw,  this 
is  a  hell  of  a  mess,  ain't  it?  Are  yuh  hurt 
bad?" 

The  Saint  mumbled  something  in  his  beard,, 
but  let  Duke  lead  him  off  the  street,  between 
two  of  the  buildings.  Behind  them  came  the 
sound  of  voices,  as  the  people  came  back  into 
the  street.  Duke  led  the  Saint  around  the 
rear  of  the  buildings,  until  he  struck  the  trail 
into  the  Alley.  His  face  was  bleeding  and  a 
dull  pain  in  his  shoulder  apprised  him  of  the 

90 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

fact  that  the  first  bullet  had  torn  through  the 
flesh. 

The  Saint  mumbled  incoherent  sentences, 
but  led  the  way  to  their  shack,  where  he  sat 
down  on  a  rock  and  held  his  head  in  his  hands. 
Duke  tried  to  examine  the  Saint's  injuries,  but 
the  old  man  shoved  him  away,  mumbling  a 
curse. 

Duke  squinted  closely  at  him.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  heard  the  Saint  curse. 

"You  sure  got  hit  hard,  pardner,"  observed 
Duke.  "I  don't  reckon  yuh  never  swore  be- 
cause yuh  didn't  know  how." 

From  the  street  came  the  sound  of  voices, 
as  though  the  crowd  had  separated  and  was 
searching;  scattered  voices  yelling  instruc- 
tions, with  one  group  closer  than  the  rest. 
Duke  reloaded  his  pistol  and  shook  the  Saint's 
shoulder. 

"Get  up,  Saint!     There's  men  comin',  and 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

we  don't  know  whether  they're  friends  or  not." 

But  the  Saint  mumbled  thickly  and  shook 
his  head.  Came  a  scraping  noise  at  the  door- 
way, and  Duke  lifted  his  head  to  see  Luck 
leaning  inside. 

f  "Come  out!"  she  panted  excitedly.  "They 
are  coming  to  hang  you  both!  Hurry!" 
.  Duke  yanked  the  Saint  to  his  feet  and  shoved 
him  out  of  the  doorway.  The  silhouetted  fig- 
ures of  men  were  coming  over  the  rim  of  the 
Alley  toward  them. 

"Follow  me!"  whispered  Luck.  "It's  your 
only  chance." 

The  Saint  mumbled  thickly  and*  tried  to 
protest,  but  Duke  hustled  him  along  in  the 
heavy  shadow  of  the  rock  ledges,  while  be- 
hind them  came  the  clamor  of  voices,  like  a 
pack  of  hounds  casting  for  a  scent. 

Luck  led  them  angling  up  the  side  of  the 
hill,  over  ledges  where  Duke  had  to  fairly 

92 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

carry  the  Saint,  until  they  came  out  over  the 
rim.  Below  them  shone  the  yellow  lights  of 
the  street,  which  seemed  to  be  deserted  now. 
From  down  in  Sunshine  Alley  came  the  .faint 
voices  of  the  searchers,  calling  to  each  other; 
voices  that  echoed  strangely  from  that  black 
cleft  in  the  mountain. 

Luck  took  them  straight  to  her  own  home. 
The  Saint  sat  down  on  the  door-step  and  held 
his  head  in  his  hands,  while  he  began  his  in- 
coherent mumble  again. 

"Whose  place  is  this?"  asked  Duke. 

"Mine,"  panted  Luck.  "Bring  him  in- 
side." 

"Your  home?     Silver  Sleed's  place?" 

"Yes.  Don't  you  see  it's  the  only  place 
where  they  won't  search?" 

"But  suppose  they  do,"  argued  Duke. 
"What  will  they  think  of  you,  Miss  Luck?" 

"They  won't  come  here.  Help  him  inside, 
93 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

please.  They  will  think  you  hid  in  the  rocks 
tonight.  I  know  a  trail  that  leads  around 
Ruby  Hill  and  you  can  go  out  that  way  into 
the  desert.  Nobody  will  ever  think  of  watch- 
ing that  trail. 

"I'll  get  your  burro  and  the  stuff  from  your 
shack.  Bring  him  in  before  some  of  them 
pass  here.  They  may  search  the  hill  tonight." 

Duke  helped  the  Saint  to  his  feet  and  shoved 
him  into  the  doorway.  Luck  dropped  the 
heavy  blanket  curtain  over  the  front  window 
and  lit  some  candles,  while  Duke  guided  the 
Saint  to  a  chair. 

The  old  man's  hair  and  beard  were  a  clotted 
mass  of  red  and  white  now,  and  his  eyes 
blinked  painfully  in  the  candle-light.  He 
tried  to  get  to  his  feet,  but  Duke  put  a  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

"The  traps,"  mumbled  the  Saint,  "I'm  going 
to  take  up  the  traps,  Jim." 

94 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"What  does  he  mean?"  whispered  Luck. 

"Out  of  his  head,"  said  Duke.  "That  bullet 
must  have  cracked  his  skull." 

The  Saint  looked  curiously  at  Duke. 

"Are  you  from  St.  Pierre?"  he  asked. 

"He  don't  know  you,"  whispered  Luck. 

The  Saint  bowed  his  head  for  a  moment 
and  then  looked  back  at  Duke. 

"Did  they  find  her?"  he  whispered  hoarsely. 
"Did  they?" 

"Take  it  easy,  pardner,"  soothed  Duke. 

"I'll  have  to  get  yuh  out  of  here  ahead  of  a 
rope.  They  ain't  lookin'  for  her;  they're 
lookin'  for  us." 

"My  father  sent  me  home,"  explained  Luck. 
"I  ran  out  of  the  street  when  the  shooting  be- 
gan and  he  grabbed  me.  He  was  very  angry 
and  made  me  come  home.  The — the  men 
who  got  shot  were  friends  of  my  father. 

"But  I  didn't  come  home — then,"  she  con- 
95 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

tinued,   after  a  moment's   pause.     "I   heard 
them  say  they  were  going  to  hang  you  both." 

"We're  sure  obliged  to  yuh,  Miss  Luck," 
said  Duke  slowly.  "We'll  get  out  of  here 
before  they  find  yuh  out." 

Came  a  dull  knock  on  the  heavy  door. 
Duke  drew  his  gun  and  stepped  in  closer  to 
the  wall,  snuffing  out  one  of  the  candles. 

"I'll  open  it,"  he  whispered,  but  Luck  mo- 
tioned him  to  stop. 
•  "Who  is  it?"  she  called. 

"Me — Mica  Gates,"  answered  a  muffled 
voice.  "You  paw  asked  me  to  find  out  if  yuh 
was  home." 

"I'm  all  right,"  said  Luck. 

"I'll  tell  him.  They  ain't  found  them  fel- 
lers yet,  Luck;  but  they're  still  huntin'.  Your 
dad  is  willin'  to  pay  big  for  the  man  what 
gets  'em.  Loper's  dead.  Mendez  and  Fane 
are  kinda  bad,  but  mebbe  they'll  live." 


. 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  and  then 
Gates  said,  a  'Member  what  I  said  about  them 
buzzards?  It  sure  is  hard  to  fool  a  buzzard. 
G'd-night." 

Luck  turned  to  Duke,  her  face  white  in  the 
flickering  light  of  the  one  candle. 

"My  dad,"  she  said  slowly,  "is  offering 
money  for  your  lives." 

Duke  thought  of  the  I.  O.  U.  in  his  pocket. 
Forty-six  thousand  dollars.  No  wonder 
Silver  Sleed  was  willing  to  pay  well  to  stop 
collection  on  that  piece  of  paper.  It  would 
break  Sleed  to  pay  that  bet;  strip  him  of  his 
unearned  wealth. 

"I  reckon  your  dad's  got  the  wrong  idea  of 
us,"  said  Duke  slowly.  He  did  not  want  her 
to  know  why  Silver  Sleed  wanted  to  kill  him. 

"I'll  get  your  burro  and  things,"  she  said, 
and  slipped  out  through  the  back  entrance  be- 
fore he  could  stop  her.  The  Saint  lifted  his 

97 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

gory  head  and  stared  at  her  as  she  went  past 
him.  He  started  to  get  up,  but  sank  back  in 
his  chair,  muttering  softly,  wonderingly. 

He  looked  at  Duke  closely,  without  a  sign 
of  recognition  in  his  eyes. 

"How  do  yuh  feel,  Saint?"  asked  Duke. 

"How  do  I  feel?"  parroted  the  Saint.  "Why 
do  you  ask  me  that?  Where  am  I?" 

"Don't  yuh  remember,  Saint?  You're  in 
Silver  Sleed's  home  right  now." 

"Sleed's  home?"  The  Saint  got  slowly  out 
of  his  chair  and  looked  around,  as  though  an 
inspection  of  the  four  walls  would  corrobo- 
rate his  statement. 

"Sleed's  home?"  he  repeated,  as  though  to 
himself  and  then  to  Duke.  "I  don't  under- 
stand— I — can't." 

"Don't  yuh  remember  the  shootin'  in  the 
street?  One  of  Sleed's  men  shot  yuh,  Saint; 
but  he  paid  damn  well  for  it." 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"One  of  Sleed's  men?  What  men  do  you 
men?" 

It  was  not  the  voice  of  the  old  Saint.  Gone 
was  the  deep,  organ-like  tone,  and  in  its  place 
was  a  harsh,  rasping  enunciation,  toneless, 
colorless. 

"You  take  it  easy,  old  timer,"  advised  Duke. 
"We'll  get  out  of  here  first  and  talk  after- 
wards." 

The  Saint  heard  this  indifferently,  as  his 
hand  ran  slowly  through  his  great  white 
beard,  now  streaked  and  clotted  with  blood. 
Across  the  room  was  a  mirror  in  a  rough 
frame,  and  his  eyes  traveled  to  this.  He  stag- 
gered over  to  it  and  peered  at  himself  for  sev- 
eral long  moments. 

He  turned  away  and  staggered  against  the 
wall,  where  he  stared  at  Duke,  wide-eyed. 

"Who  am  I?"  he  breathed.  "My  God, 
who  am  I?" 

99 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

His  voice  was  almost  a  scream,  and  his 
hands  clutched  against  the  rough  wall.  There 
was  no  doubt  in  Duke's  mind  but  that  the 
Saint  had  gone  insane  from  his  wound. 

"Easy,  pardner,"  soothed  Duke.  "You'll 
remember  who  yuh  are.  Set  down  and  take 
it  easy." 

"Who  am  I?"  whined  the  Saint,  paying  no 
heed  to  Duke's  advice.  "Don't  you  know 
whom  I  am?" 

"Le  Saint,"  answered  Duke. 

"Yes,  that's  my  name — Le  Saint." 

He  stared  at  Duke  for  several  moments, 
shaking  his  head  as  though  in  pain  or  per- 
plexity. Then  he  said,  "I  don't  know  you, 
but  your  face  is  familiar.  Who  are  you?" 

"Duke  Steele." 

"Yes,"  nodded  the  Saint,  "that  is  the  name, 
but  I  don't  remember  you  -very  well.  You 
heard  what  happened  to  me,  didn't  you?" 

100 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

The  question  was  child-like  in  its  simplicity, 
and  the  Saint  smiled  wistfully  as  he  spoke. 

"What  happened  to  you?"  queried  Duke. 

"I  thought  everyone  knew.  The  factor  at 
Norway  Lake  told  everyone — I — thought." 

"Where's  Norway  Lake?" 

The  Saint  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  forgot  that  you  were  a  stranger.  It  is 
north  of  here.  I  am  a  trapper;  a  free  trader, 
they  call  me.  There  were  three  of  us  on 
Moose  River — no,  four.  But  there  were  only 
three  of  us  went  in  there.  The  baby  was  born 
that  winter. 

"The  fur  was  plentiful  and  our  catch  was 
large.  My  wife — "  The  Saint  stopped  and 
stared  at  the  floor,  as  though  unable  to  con- 
tinue. 

"It  was  a  hard  life  for  a  woman,  away  from 
her  own  kind.  I  trusted  my  partner."  The 
Saint's  manner  seemed  to  change,  and  he 

101 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

cursed  witheringly  in  a  mixture  of  English, 
French  and  another  language,  which  Duke 
had  never  heard.  It  seemed  to  relieve  him, 
for  he  continued: 

"The  fur  was  ready  to  take  out  in  the  spring, 
and  my  partner  was  to  make  the  voyage  alone. 
On  the  day  he  left,  I  was  going  to  take  up  a 
few  traps  which  had  not  been  lifted.  Some- 
how, my  wife  seemed  nervous,  and  I  ques- 
tioned her.  She  confessed  that  she  was  afraid 
of  my  partner. 

"I  laughed.  My  friend,  it  seemed  a  huge 
joke.  The  load  of  furs  was  launched  and  my 
partner  waved  adieu.  I  watched  him  pole 
away  and  went  to* my  wife,  laughing  at  her 
grave  expression. 

"  'He  is  gone/  I  said,  'and  anyway  it  is 
foolish  of  you  to  feel  as  you  do  about  him. 
Has  he  ever  been  anything  except  a  good 
friend  to  us?" 

102 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"  'I  do  not  know/  she  replied,  as  she  hugged 
the  baby  and  went  into  the  cabin.  I  laughed 
and  went  on  the  trail.  But  a  man;s  mirtd  is 
the  devil's  garden,  where  seeds  of  suspicion 
take  root  easily,  and  I  grew  uneasy.  I  would 
go  back  to  the  little  cabin  and  stay  with  my 
wife  until  she  was  no  longer  afraid. 

"I  reached  the  cabin  just  in  time  to  see  my 
partner,  who  had  returned,  forcing  my  wife 
into  the  canoe.  He  had  come  back,  evidently 
with  the  intention  of  stealing  my  wife  along 
with  the  furs. 

"I  shouted  at  him  as  I  ran  down  the  shore, 
and  I  saw  him  throw  my  baby  bodily  into  the 
canoe  with  my  wife,  who  had  fainted  from  her 
struggle.  And  then  he  shoved  off  from  the 
shore,  just  as  I  reached  there,  but  not  soon 
enough  to  escape." 

The  Saint  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  as 
though  striving  to  shut  out  that  sight. 

103 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"We  fought,"  he  continued  slowly,  "fought 
like  beasts,  and  I  whipped  him,  but  just  be- 
fore1 he  went  down  under  a  powerful  blow  he 

""•-•**  ***-»*  *•' 

managed  to  fall  against  the  canoe  and  shove 
it  into  the  current,  where  the  water  gains 
speed  for  the  white  rapids  below." 

The  Saint  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"I  never  found  them — never.  I  forgot  the 
man  who  was  responsible  for  my  loss,  and  he 
escaped.  I  have  sworn  to  kill  him,  my  friend. 
The  Indians  found  the  overturned  canoe — 
empty." 

"For  God's  sake!"  breathed  Duke,  as  the 
Saint  bowed  his  head  over  a  loss  sustained 
twenty  years  before.  It  seemed  utterly  im- 
possible— yet  true. 

"What  was  your  partner's  name?"  asked 
Duke. 

"Martin,"  replied  the  Saint  evenly,  through 
clenched  teeth. 

104 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

Duke  shook  his  head.  He  knew  no  one  by 
the  name.  He  knew  little  about  the  loss  of 
memory,  but  felt  sure  that  the  bullet,  which 
had  scored  the  Saint's  head,  had  shocked  him 
back  twenty  years,  and  he  shuddered  as  he 
wondered  what  must  be  the  Saint's  feeling 
when  he  realized  that  he  had  lost  twenty  years 
of  his  life. 

From  below  the  cabin  came  the  hoarse  yell- 
ing of  a  man,  like  the  leader  of  a  wolf-pack 
sounding  a  view  hello  to  his  comrades  when  he 
scents  the  trail  anew.  Shouts  answered  him. 

Suddenly  the  back  door  crashed  open  and 
Luck  half-fell  inside,  panting  painfully. 

"They  know  where  you  are!"  she  panted. 
"I  got  your  burro  and  blankets,  but  they  found 
me  and  took  them  away.  Someone  made  a 
guess  that  you  were  at  my  house,  and  my 
father  struck  him  down  for  the  suggestion, 
but  they  are  coming  to  find  out." 

105 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"I  reckon  we'll  meet  'em  here,"  said  Duke 
slowly,  and  nodded  toward  the  Saint. 

"He's  gone  crazy,  Luck." 

As  Luck  looked  toward  the  Saint  he  raised 
his  head  and  looked  straight  at  Duke,  as  he 
said,  "Who  has  gone  crazy,  Duke?" 

It  was  the  booming  voice  of  the  old  Saint 
again.  He  got  to  his  feet  and  shook  his  head, 
as  though  to  clear  his  befogged  memory. 

"They're  cornerin'  us,  Saint,"  said  Duke, 
"and  it  kinda  looks  like  the  end  of  the 
trail." 

"Come  out  this  way — quick!"  urged  Luck, 
starting  for  the  rear  door,  which  opened  on 
to  a  rocky  slope,  leading  on  a  steep  grade  up 
the  side  of  Ruby  Hill.  The  Saint  stumbled 
out  of  the  door,  with  Duke  close  behind  him, 
and  they  went  up  the  hill,  winding  their  way 
around  the  tall  spires,  dodging  from  shadow 
to  shadow  to  escape  the  moonlight,  which 

1 06 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

lighted  the  world  like  a  mighty  blue-tinted, 
incandescent  lamp. 

Behind  them  came  the  voices  of  the  mob, 
the  crashing  of  the  front  door  of  the  cabin, 
hollow,  muffled  voices,  as  those  inside  shouted 
the  information  that  their  quarry  had  escaped 
from  the  rear. 

"The  tunnels!"  panted  Luck.  "The  hill  is 
full  of  them. 

They  stopped  for  a  breathing  spell  and 
watched  the  crowd  below  them  climbing  the 
hill,  their  voices  plainly  audible  in  the  thin 
atmosphere. 

"They're  headin'  for  the  tunnels!"  shouted 
Silver  Sleed's  voice.  "We'll  get  'em  now!" 

Duke  turned  and  followed  Luck,  climbing 
higher  and  higher  over  the  barren  rocks, 
while  below  them  came  the  redoubled  shouts 
of  the  crowd,  as  they  saw  the  flitting  figures 
far  up  on  the  cliffs. 

107 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"The  Saint!"  exclaimed  Duke  suddenly. 
"Where  is  he?" 

Luck,  panting  against  a  rock,  looked  back. 
She  and  Duke  were  alone.  Breathlessly  they 
scanned  the  world  below  them,  and  watched 
the  crowd  coming;  black  figures  in  that 
ghostly  light. 

All  danger  to  themselves  was  forgotten. 
What  had  become  of  the  Saint? 

"He's  crazy,"  muttered  Duke.  "That  bul- 
let knocked  him  crazy,  but  he's  my  pardner 
and  I'm  going  back,  Luck." 

"They  kill  you!"  panted  Luck.  "My 
father-  -" 

But  Duke  Steele  was  going  back  down  the 
hill,  calling  softly  the  Saint's  name  and  Luck 
followed  him.  There  was  no  sign  of  him  in 
the  path  of  the  coming  crowd,  so  Duke  and 
Luck  swung  wide,  peering  into  the  shadows, 
until  they  were  almost  past  the  mob,  which 
had  not  seen  them  return. 

1 08 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Gawd!"  muttered  Duke.  "If  we  could 
find  him  now  we  could  double  back  on 
them." 

Suddenly  the  clamoring  crowd  went  silent. 
It  was  uncanny.  Duke  led  the  way  swiftly 
around  the  base  of  a  broken  ledge  and  they 
found  themselves  just  at  the  rear  of  the  halted 
mob,  a  mob  as  silent  as  the  dead. 

Just  beyond  and  above  them  stood  the  Saint, 
a  huge  figure,  back-lighted  in  the  moonlight 
until  it  seemed  that  a  halo  encircled  his  great, 
white  head.  Silently,  like  a  prophet  of  old; 

G 

he  reared  his  huge  bulk  in  their  path,  as 
though  rebuking  them  for  their  evil  actions. 

Duke  caught  his  breath.  It  was  so  unreal, 
weird. 

"Kill  him!"  grunted  Silver  Slecd's  voice, 
but  the  crowd  did  not  move.  It  was  as  though 
the  Saint  held  a  strange  power  over  them. 
Duke  gripped  his  gun  tightly  and  waited. 

109 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

There  was  nothing  he  could  do  to  help  the 
Saint  now. 

Then,  slowly,  the  Saint  began  his  descent 
toward  the  crowd,  which  parted  to  let  him 
through.  Miners,  hardened  gamblers,  killers, 
the  riff-raff  of  the  new  West,  drew  aside  in 
wonderment  or  fear  of  this  man. 

Slowly  he  came  among  them,  peering  into 
their  faces,  as  though  seeking  someone,  while 
they  silently  stared  at  him. 

"Blood!"  muttered  Mica  Cates,  who  was 
near  Duke  and  the  girl.  "Blood  and  buz- 
zards." 

Suddenly  the  Saint  stopped.  He  was  look- 
ing straight  at  Silver  Sleed  now,  and  Silver 
Sleed's  right  hand  held  a  cocked  pistol  at  his 
hip,  tensed,  ready  to  fire.  Then  the  Saint 
spoke : 

"The  trail  ends  here,  Sleed  Martin.  It  has 
been  full  of  shadows,  and  I  have  only  a  mem 

1 10 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

ory — just   a    memory.     I    want   you,    whom 
men  call   Silver  Sleed.     It  may  only  be   a 
nightmare,   Martin,  but  it  is   real  to  me— 
now!" 

As  the  Saint  spoke  he  sprang,  like  a  tiger. 
Silver  Sleed  fired,  but  his  bullet  smashed  into 
the  cliff  behind  the  Saint,  and  before  he  could 
shoot  again,  the  Saint  was  upon  him. 

Both  of  them  were  giant  men,  and  they 
crashed  together  like  two  grizzlies,  while  the 
crowd  backed  away  to  give  them  room,  know- 
ing nothing  of  the  reasons  for  the  fight.  Luck 
had  started  ahead,  but  Duke  drew  her  back 
against  the  rock. 

"My  God,  he's  stronger  than  Sleed!" 
gasped  a  man.  "Look  at  him,  will  yuh?" 

The  rest  of  the  crowd  watched  silently  the 
stranger  battle.  Silver  Sleed  was  battling  for 
his  life  while  the  old  Saint,  insane  with  the 
stored-up  hate  of  years,  and  with  the  super- 

iii 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

human  strength  of  a  madman,  battered  and 
crushed  Silver  Sleed  without  mercy. 

The  thudding  of  mighty  blows,  the  crash 
of  clinches,  scraping  of  feet  on  the  barren 
rock;  but  no  sound  from  the  mob.  For  all 
the  movement  about  them,  they  might  as  well 
have  been  fighting  alone  on  the  mountain 
top. 

Suddenly  they  drew  apart,  only  to  crash  to- 
gether again,  .but  this  time  Silver  Sleed  went 
down,  striking  the  back  of  his  head  against  the 
'rock.  The  Saint  stood  over  him,  hunched, 
with  arms  bent,  like  the  wings  of  an  eagle 
about  to  strike,  then  his  arms  swept  down 
around  Silver  Sleed  and  swung  up,  with  Sleed 
in  his  arms.  With  a  mighty  heave  he  swung 
the  unconscious  man  across  his  shoulder, 
turned  and  lumbered  away  around  the  side  of 
the  cliffs. 

"Stop  him!"  screamed  a  man. 
112 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

"Stop  him!"  echoed  the  crowd,  suddenly 
realizing  that  they  had  voices.  After  him 
they  went,  but  the  chase  was  slow.  It  was 
only  a  narrow  trail,  which  broke  off  to  the 
sharp  cliffs  below  it.  Beyond  them  went  the 
Saint,  with  the  sure-footedness  of  a  mountain 
goat,  traveling  at  a  pace  that  none  dared  im- 
itate. 

Duke  and  Luck  followed  closely.  Duke 
had  forgotten  that  he  was  also  being  hunted 
by  the  crowd,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  any  of  the 
crowd  knew  or  cared  about  him  now. 

"He's  got  to  go  into  the  Silver  Shell  tunnel  1" 
yelled  a  man.  "That's  the  end  of  the  trail." 

Beyond  this  tunnel  was  a  wide  crevice  in 
the  cliffs,  which  extended  back  into  the  moun- 
tain. It  was  impossible  to  go  beyond  the 
tunnel,  either  up  or  down.  The  Saint  had 
trapped  himself.  Stumbling  along  this  trail 
came  the  crowd,  or  as  many  as  dared  to  trust 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

this  narrow  pathway  in  the  tricky  moonlight 
until  they  reached  the  wide  ledge  which  con- 
stituted the  mouth  of  the  Silver  Shell. 

"He's  bottled  up,"  cried  a  miner,  "but  it 
ain't  goin'  to  help  Sleed  none!" 

"There's  a  cross-cut  tunnel  into  the  Kalura," 
panted  a  newcomer.  "He'll  find  that.  Watch 
the  mouth  of  the  Kalura,  I  tell  yuh!" 

The  crowd  ran  back  along  the  trail,  until 
they  could  look  up  and  beyond  the  crevice, 
where  the  Kalura  workings  opened  out  onto  a 
much  higher  ledge.  From  this  spot  it  was 
five  hundred  feet  straight  down  into  Sunshine 
Alley. 

A  man  cocked  his  rifle  and5  leaned  back 
against  the  rocky  wall,  but  another  jerked  the 
gun  away  from  him. 

"You  fool!  Killin'  the  old  man  won't 
save  Sleed,  and  you  can't  be  sure  in  this 
light." 

114 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

Suddenly  two  figures  appeared  on  this  ledge, 
silhouetted  against  the  moon.  Sleed  had  re- 
covered from  his  injury  and  was  fighting 
again.  They  clashed  together,  blending  into 
one  figure.  Then  the  Saint  picked  Sleed  up 
in  his  arms,  balanced  him  for  a  second,  and 
hurled  him  far  out  over  the  abyss. 

The  man  with  the  rifle  dropped  it  and  flung 
his  hands  to  his  eyes,  and  a  hoarse  gasp  went 
up  from  the  crowd  as  Sleed's  body  faded  out 
into  the  depths,  falling  like  a  plummet. 

The  Saint  was  standing  near  the  edge  of  the 
rock,  with  his  arms  high  above  his  head  as  he 
gazed  into  space.  Then  his  laughter  came 
down  to  them,  the  choking  cackle  of  a  maniac. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  Duke  Steele  had  ever 
heard  the  Saint  laugh  aloud. 

Luck  was  leaning  back  against  the  rock,  her 
face  as  white  as  snow  and  with  her  eyes  shut. 
For  a  moment  Duke  thought  she  had  fainted, 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

but  her  eyes  opened  and  she  stared  back  at  the 
old  Saint  atop  the  ledge,  still  cackling  in  his 
glee. 

As  he  lowered  his  arms  and  turned,  as 
though  to  go  back  into  the  tunnel,  he  slipped, 
fell  sidewise,  clawing  at  the  rock,  which  slid 
away  with  him.  For  a  moment  he  seemed  to 
hang,  half-off  the  cliff,  but  the  edge  of  the 
rock  seemed  to  crumble  away  under  his 
weight,  and  he  shot  sidewise  into  space  to  join 
Silver  Sleed. 

Duke  had  started  forward,  as  though  to  try 
and  help  the  Saint,  and  when  he  turned  back, 
Luck  was  gone.  Silently  the  crowd  filed  past 
him,  wordless  from  the  tragedy  they  had  just 
seen,  forgetting  that  he  was  one  of  the  men 
they  had  been  hunting. 

Duke  gazed  for  a  long  time  into  the  silvered 
depths  of  the  Alley.  From  far  away  came  the 
eerie,  wailing  cry  of  a  desert  coyote.  Duke 

116 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

shook  his  head.  Perhaps  it  was  better  for  the 
Saint  Memory  had  only  half  returned  to 
him;  the  balancing  point  which  might  mean 
insanity.  He  had  achieved  his  purpose  after 
twenty  years;  twenty  years  of  another  person- 
ality, which  urged  him  on  to  hunt  down  the 
man  who  had  ruined  his  life.  Suddenly  Duke 
realized  that  Luck  was  the  daughter  of  the 
Saint.  She  had  been  the  lost  baby.  Sleed 
was  Sleed  Martin,  the  trapping  partner  of  the 
Saint. 

"Twenty  years  another  person,"  muttered 
Duke.  "My  Gawd !  No  wonder  he  looked 
in  that  glass  and  asked  me  who  he  was!" 

Duke  turned  and  went  slowly  down  the  hill 
toward  Sleed's  cabin.  A  gray  burro  crossed 
into  the  moonlight;  Duke's  burro.  It  was 
half-packed  and  dragging  a  blanket.  The 
pack-sacks  were  still  intact,  half-filled  with 
food,  and  a  small  keg  of  water  was  tied  be- 

117 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

tween  the  saddle-posts.  Luck  had  made  good 
as  far  as  she  was  able. 

Duke  caught  the  animal  and  led  it  down  the 
hill  behind  him.  He  did  not  know  where  he 
was  going  now.  Near  the  corner  of  Sleed's 
home  he  stopped.  Someone  was  talking,  and 
Duke  recognized  Mica  Cates's  voice.  Duke 
edged  in  closer. 

Luck  was  sitting  on  the  rough  steps,  with 
her  heacl  buried  in  her  hands,  while  Mica 
Gates  and  another  man  stood  near  her. 

"It  shore  was  hard  luck,"  said  Mica 
softly,  "but  I  knowed  somethin'  was  due  to 
happen." 

"But  why?"  sobbed  Luck.  "Why  did  that 
man  do  it?" 

"Crazy,"  grunted  Mica. 

"He  called  him  Martin.  My  daddy's  name 
was  Sleed." 

"He  wa'n't  responsible,  Luck,"  said  the 
118 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

other  man.  "He  was  jist  plumb  crazy, 
thasall." 

"Don't  yuh  worry,"  soothed  Gates.  "Cal- 
ico'll  take  care  of  yuh.  Why,  yo're  rich. 
Luck.  Everythin'  yore  dad  had  belongs  to 
you.  You  can  git  eddicated  and  have  silk 
dresses,  and — "  Mica  Gates  seemed  to  ex- 
pand—"and  you  won't  have  t'  live  in  Calico." 

"What  become  of  that  other  feller?"  quer- 
ied the  other  man.  "I  reckon  we  plum  forgot 
him.  Sleed  wanted  him  especially.  I  won- 
der if  he  wasn't  crazy,  too?" 

Luck  looked  up  quickly. 

"Don't  say  that.     He — he  wasn't  crazy." 

Duke  turned  away  and  picked  up  the  lead- 
rope  of  his  burro,  and  went  softly  around  the 
house  and  down  past  the  lighted  town,  which 
was  strangely  silent  for  Calico. 

A  few  miles  out  on  the  desert  he  stopped 
and  looked  back  at  the  lights  of  Calico,  which 

119 


SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT 

were  now  only  a  tiny  flicker  against  the  dead 
black  of  the  hills.  Slowly  he  drew  out  a 
folded  paper  from  his  pocket  and  looked  at 
the  scrawl  thereon : 

/  owe  you  forty-six  thousand  dollars. 
$46,000:00 

Silver  Shed. 

Duke  glanced  back  at  Calico  as  he  slowly 
tore  the  paper  into  bits  and  scattered  them  to 
the  wind.  He  picked  up  the  lead-rope  and 
spoke  softly  to  the  burro. 

"One  man  wondered  if  I  was  crazy,  and  she 
denied  it.  Forty-six  thousand  dollars.  I 
wonder  which  was  right?" 

And  he  turned  and  went  into  the  misty 
spaces  of  the  desert — alone. 

THE  END 
120 


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DON  QUICKSHOT  OF  THE  Rio  GRANDE Stephen  Chalmers 

LOADED   DICE Edwin  L.  Sabin 

SONTAG  OF  SUNDOWN W.  C.  Tuttle 

SPAWN  OF  THE  DESERT W.  C.  Tuttle 

ARIZONA    ARGONAUTS H.  Bedford-Jones 

THE  LURE  OF  PIPER'S  GLEN     ....       Theodore  Goodridge  Roberts 

APACHE   VALLEY Arthur   Chapman 

THE  CHALLENGE  OF  THE  NORTH James  B.  Hendryx 

THE  SECOND  MATE H.  Bedford-Jones 

THE  DEVIL'S  PAYDAY W.  C.  Tuttle 

THE  CANYON  OF  THE  GREEN  DEATH F.  R.   Buckley 

SKY  HIGH  CORRAL Ralph  Cummins 

THE  SEVEN  PEARLS  OF  SHANDI Magruder  Maury 

THE  LAST  GRUBSTAKE Anthony  M.  Rud 

THE  SHERIFF  OF  PECOS H.   Bedford-Jones 

THE  WONDERSTRANDS Samuel  Alexander  White 

THE  NIGHT  RIDER Elmer  B.  Mason 

THE  PHANTOM  WOLF T.  Von  Ziekursch 

THE  HEN  HERDER J.  Allan  Dunn 

THE  ONE  BIG  THING James  B.  Hendryx 

SCAVENGERS  OF  THE  SEA George  Ethelbert  Walsh 

MUSKET  HOUSE Theodore  Goodridge  Roberts 

MORMON    VALLEY H.  Bedford-Jones 

THE  LAW  OF  THE  RANGE W.  C.  Tuttle 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  LADY Booth  Tarkington 

MA  PETTENGILL  TALKS        . Harry  Leon   Wilson 

NORTH  OF  FIFTY-THREE Rex  Beach 

WINGS        Gene  Stratton-Porter 

TOUCHSTONE         Edith  Wharton 

UNEDUCATING   MARY Kathleen   Norris 

THE  SPANISH  JADE Maurice  Hewlett 

THE    DUEI Joseph  Conrad 

THE    GORGEOUS    ISLE Gertrude   Atherton 

THE  DARK  FLEECE Joseph  Hergesheimer 

AN    AMATEUR W.  B.  Maxwell 

CAPTAIN    WARDLAW'S    KITBAGS Harold  MacGrath 

ALL  IN  THE  NIGHT'S  WORK 

Ethel  Watts  Mumford  and  George  Bronson  Howard 

THE   DEVIL'S   HEIRLOOM Anthony  M.JRud 

THE  DEATH   BELI Edison  Marshall 

THE   CURRENCY   EXPERT Francis  Lynde 

FLAT    2 Edgar  Wallace 

THE  REMITTANCE  WOMAN Achmed  Abdullah 

THE    Moss    MYSTERY Carolyn    Wells 

CROOKED  SHADOWS .     Gordon  Young 

GREEN  TIMBER  THOROUGHBREDS     .      .      .       Theodore  Goodridge  Roberts 
TEN   THOUSAND  DOLLARS   REWARD     ....   Charles  Wesley  Sanders 

THE  WATER  DEVIL Crittenden    Marriott 

THE  GRAY  GULL Henry  Francis  Granger 

ETIQUETTE Lillian  Eichler 

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